


Bloody Mortality Glitch

by katya1828



Series: Falling Together [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Amenadiel (Lucifer TV) Being an Asshole, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Big Brother Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brother Feels, Depowered Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), F/M, Gen, Hurt Chloe Decker, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 01, Lucifer Feels, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Whump, M/M, POV Chloe Decker, POV Lucifer, Protective Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Protective Chloe Decker, Protective Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Road Trips, Sibling Bonding, Slash, Vulnerable Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), but only in the alternate ending, deckerstar compliant, mention of brother/brother incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katya1828/pseuds/katya1828
Summary: Alternate canon Season 1. Not “fixing” anything – just me having my whumpy fun ;) DECKERSTAR EPILOGUE IS NOW UP!What if Lucifer "provoked" Amenadiel into giving him a far harsher beating after he'd burned his wings on the beach in s1x7? Instead of pursuing the Palmetto case, Chloe finds Lucifer, bleeding and hurt, and turns her energies to hunting down his violent brother. Amenadiel, meanwhile, has missed his chance to save Malcolm’s life and is discovering his actions might have consequences. His powers are fading, though that has to be Lucifer's fault, right? After all, Lucifer's mortality glitch seems to be getting worse too.Lucifer wants to deal with Amenadiel his own way—getting the increasingly mortal angel out of his life for good. The brothers head off on a road-trip, begrudgingly bonding as they confront their issues, and with Chloe in pursuit. But, far more dangerously, the Palmetto Street demons Chloe has put on a backburner are now hot in pursuit of her…This story explores the growing closeness between Lucifer and Chloe and the chiefly platonic elements of Lucifer's relationship with Amenandiel in Season 1 (therefore contains season 1 spoilers.) Please see notes at start for more info :)
Relationships: Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Falling Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624285
Comments: 66
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking :)
> 
> So, first, there's more Chloe/Lucifer in this than my previous fics, mostly hurt/comfort.
> 
> I originally intended to follow up "My Brother's Stalker" with a fic involving the "nice" Amenadiel of latter series. However, this idea got going first, and Season 1 Lucifer and Amenadiel decided to go all angsty and fighty on me. It refers a few times to a sexual encounter between Lucifer and Amenadiel in “My Brother’s Stalker” (which you don't really have to read to get this one) but contains no actual sex, het or slash.* The next fic in the series will confront the sexual tension of "My Brother's Stalker" more directly. Hopefully I'll get to that soon :)
> 
> EDIT: This story now has two alternate epilogues - a Deckerstar one, and a Lucifer/Amenadiel one. The latter (posted after the ending as chp 11) does contain m/m mature content, but the story is totally complete without reading this.  
> I really hope some of you enjoy it. As always, apologies for any typos - I self-beta.

“In case I haven’t made myself abundantly clear,” said Lucifer. “I’m never going back to hell!”

Lucifer beamed at Amenadiel. He basked in the heat from the flames—the sweet sense of liberation, as the fire chewed hungrily through his wings, reducing celestial purity to ashes.

Okay, so it was also abundantly clear that Amenadiel was radiating anger and frustration as fiercely as the fire burned. Lucifer’s brother was either about to erupt like a volcano, or spontaneously combust, his wits unable to process failure. The temptation to mock him for said failure proved too much for Lucifer to resist.

He ventured closer and patted his brother’s shoulder. “But ‘A’ for effort. I’m sure Dad will give you a gold star for trying.”

Aaaaaand, the volcano erupted. _Quelle surprise!_ With a roar, Amenadiel grabbed Lucifer, hauled him up bodily, and hurled him to the sand. Lucifer was desperate to laugh at his brother’s sheer predictability, but Amenadiel got in three bruising punches, which bloody well _hurt_ , before Lucifer even managed a chuckle.

“That’s right, hit me, brother. Come on, again!” Lucifer’s ears were ringing, and he tasted the copper of his blood. “Fall like I did… Come on!”

But Amenadiel had backed off, the rage unwinding from his features. Lucifer wanted to laugh louder, but for some reason, his brother’s swift surrender ignited a pang of desperation. Wasn’t he even worth a decent beating?

“Come on!” Lucifer sounded choked, but then again, his head throbbed and the world reeled dizzily. “You never were much of a finisher. Can’t stand to get your hands dirty?” Lucifer smirked. “Though you dirtied more than your hands in my penthouse five years ago, didn’t you?”

As the words escaped Lucifer’s lips, he knew he’d made a huge mistake. They’d never— _never_ —mentioned that night when Dad had turned a blind eye to their bout of fraternal incest. It wasn’t something either of them were really capable of discussing, other than with their fists. A renewed attack of fury struck through Amenadiel like lightning. He jumped up and threw himself upon Lucifer.

Lucifer lifted his arms to protect his face, trying to defend himself from the onslaught of blows, a tactic that didn’t work particularly well. Amenadiel hauled him up by the collar, plied several gut-shattering punches to Lucifer’s stomach, then threw him back down the sand, where Lucifer landed with a thud on his shoulder, which… crunched. Shit, that _really_ hurt! The shoulder socket shifted, his arm wrenching out of place. Even sand didn’t feel anyway soft tonight.

“Crap,” murmured Lucifer, unsure whether to laugh or curse at his stupidity. Then Amenadiel’s toe-cap smashed into his chest and something cracked, robbing him of the breath either to chastise himself or protest.

He lost count of the times Amenadiel kicked him. Nursing his injured arm, he tried to curl himself into a tight a ball as possible. The pain overwhelmed him, his mind turned fuzzy, and his whole world retracted to the crunch of his brother’s boot. He didn’t even notice when exactly Amenadiel stopped the assault, but he faintly registered Amenadiel leaning over him, touching his injured shoulder and attempting to roll him over. Lucifer keened at the contact, curling into a tighter ball. Deep down, he loathed himself for letting his brother reduce him to such a wretched state, but right then, he was too far gone to care.

“Luci, I didn’t mean… but you provoked me so! I saw red… and what’ve you done to _me_? My ankle hurts… and my knuckles… they’re bruised and bleeding!”

_What’ve I done to you? Oh, so it’s all my fault, as per ever…_

“Luci?” Amenadiel stroked his hair, the mocking phantom of a caress. It was the last thing Lucifer was aware of before everything went even hazier.

***

It was dark on the beach, but enough light streamed from the boardwalk for Chloe to see where a figure knelt over another. Alarm bells pealed in her head. She didn’t quite know why she was here, but Dan had stood her up on her research trip to Palmetto Street, and her thoughts had returned to Lucifer. Way quicker than she liked, really.

She’d been angry with Lucifer, but also worried about him, and whatever dodgy business he’d gotten himself into with his “wings.” He pissed her the hell off, but she still didn’t want him to do anything he’d regret. Or, at least, anything he _ought_ to regret, so she’d persuaded Lucifer’s surly bartender friend to tell her where she might find him.

So here she was, sprinting across the beach. She’d no real evidence the man lying on the sands was Lucifer, yet she’d a horrible feeling that it was.

As she approached, the man leaning over the prone figure stumbled to his feet. On instinct, she called out, “Stop! LAPD!” This had the usual effect—the suspect bolted.

Any notion of making chase fled her mind when she reached Lucifer. He lay curled on his side, his left arm hanging awkwardly, his other hand clutched to his middle. Even in the dim light, she could see his face was reddened and bruised, his eyes half-closed. She inhaled a strong smell of burning, as if somebody had recently lit a bonfire hard by, but nothing mattered right then save her new partner. She dropped to her knees and touched him very carefully.

“Lucifer! It’s me, Chloe. What happened? Can you hear me? Oh my God!”

“No, it wasn’t _him_ this time.” Lucifer pried his least swollen eye open and offered a wheezy laugh. “Had a little fight with my bro’.”

“Your brother did this to you?” So that was Amenadiel running away. Chloe was going to _kill_ that bastard. “Where does it hurt?”

“Most places,” he murmured. “But it’s fine. I’ll get better soon. Just takes a bit longer, what with the angel-on-devil action.” He tried to push himself up using an elbow. This went poorly, and he flopped back onto the sand. “Whoops.”

“We need to get you to a hospital.” She considered moving Lucifer into a better recovery position, but she’d no idea if he had internal injuries or broken bones. Blood spattered his white shirt. When she patted his arm, he whimpered. She pulled out her cell. “Hold on, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“I’d really rather… you called… Maze.”

Chloe figured that was the bartender. But she had no number for her, and she severely doubted the woman was medically qualified, so she ignored that request for the time being and finished her call. “They’re on their way. You’re going to be fine,” she said. She touched his cheek very gently. He offered the glimmer of a smile.

“I’m always fine, Detective,” said Lucifer, then his eyes lulled closed. His body turned limp, sagging into the sands. Chloe was left alone with her whirring thoughts, her mounting worries, and a burning need to make Amenadiel pay.

***

The doctors wanted to keep Lucifer in overnight, as they needed to do some tests and check on any internal damage. When they let Chloe visit him, he didn’t look as awful as she feared he might. Besides one swollen eye and a grazed cheekbone, most of his injuries were to his body—Amenadiel had dislocated Lucifer’s shoulder, so he’d one arm in a sling. The beating had also cracked his sternum, and left significant bruising over much of his arms and torso. He was suffering from mild concussion too.

As Chloe pushed through the curtains into Lucifer’s sector of the ward, Lucifer appeared to be sleeping. The doctor ushered her to one side, speaking in a hushed tone. “If your boyfriend says he was fighting with his brother, he didn’t do much to defend himself. He doesn’t seem to have any injuries on his knuckles or hands. Seeing as you said the other guy fled the scene, it looks like a pretty one-sided beating to me.”

Chloe nodded, her jaw clenched tightly. Her concern and anger commanded her so completely that she didn’t even bother to correct the doctor over his assumption that Lucifer was her boyfriend.

The doctor left and she glided silently over to Lucifer; seeing him so pale, quiet and still made her feel sick. She was used to hospitals, with their constant bustle, chemically smell, the bleeping machines and alarms and the flashing lights. They brought back haunting memories of the night she lost her father, but seeing Lucifer here was… certainly not worse, nothing could be worse than losing her Dad. Yet it was somehow even more shocking.

It wasn’t like she believed Lucifer’s infallibility bullshit. She’d seen him bleed; she’d shot him, heaven forgive her. She’d _made_ him bleed. But Lucifer was supposed to be big and bold, an intimidating presence. He looked all wrong laid low in a hospital gown. It was… so unnatural.

Very gently, she wrapped her fingers about his much larger ones and squeezed. The doctor was right; he’d no defensive wounds whatsoever, although a mottled purple bruise marred his forearm, where he’d been kicked or punched. Her wrath simmered, and she missed the moment Lucifer fluttered his beautiful long dark lashes open.

“Detective?”

“Lucifer!” She released his hand and leaned closer. “How do you feel?”

“Ghastly.” He managed a grin, which filled her heart with gratitude. It would take more than a beating to break the irrepressible Lucifer she’d… grown fond of. “I’m starting to believe mortality is contagious, which means…” He broke off, snatching a shallow breath and hissing between his teeth. Talking and breathing were clearly a laboured effort for him. “Which means I’m now in the worst possible place. Please, Detective. I’ve _got_ to get out of here before I catch a terminal case.”

“I don’t think leaving the hospital is a good idea right now.” She smiled sympathetically, as he snatched another painful-seeming breath, clearly wanting to protest. She got in first. “Lucifer, I understand if you don’t want to talk about this right now, but, if you can, you’ve got to tell me what happened tonight.”

“Oh, just a little family tiff. I hate to sound childish, but this time, _he_ started it. My nefarious brother orchestrated the theft of my wings.” Chloe suppressed an eyeroll. She didn’t get the “wings” thing, though they clearly meant a lot to Lucifer. He gathered his breath to speak again. “Then, when I decided I didn’t want the stupid things after all, he went all alpha-gorilla fisticuffs on me.”

Chloe couldn’t help wondering what’d changed Lucifer’s mind regarding his formerly precious wings, but that wasn’t the issue right now. “You didn’t fight back?”

Lucifer pulled a face. “I wasn’t in the mood. Fighting back rarely goes well with Amenadiel, anyhow.”

“So, this has happened before.” She shook her head. She’d clocked Lucifer had issues with his family, but had never imagined he’d suffered physical abuse, and now silently chastised herself. Had there been signs, clues that she’d missed? It made her feel like a bad detective and a worse friend. _If_ that’s what they’d become.

It was easiest to think with her detective hat on. “You must press charges,” she said. “You can’t let him get away with what he did to you tonight.”

Lucifer’s chuckle managed to both be mirthless and evidently agonising to him. “Please don’t make me laugh,” he muttered. “It’s a deeply unpleasant sensation right now. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But—”

“No!” Lucifer’s voice was steely but his eyes grew large and liquid. Chloe realized it would be cruel to push him.

“Alright,” she said. Lucifer looked away toward the shadows, refusing to meet her gaze. “We’ll discuss this another time.”

The doctor slid back into the room, snatching both their attentions. “We need to take Mr. Morningstar for an Electrocardiogram to check any damage to the heart,” he said.

Chloe’s hand flew to her chest, her own heart leaping. “Amenadiel hits _that_ hard?”

“I think,” said Lucifer, “by that stage it was chiefly kicking. But really, none of this is necessary. You’re wasting your precious resources on me, Doctor.”

Lucifer looked surly, but didn’t resist when the orderlies came in to wheel him away. Just as Chloe was about to leave, he reached out and caught her hand.

“Can you _please_ call Maze now? I’ve given the doctor the number and I _really_ need to get out of here, before they poke and prod at anything that unhinges them.”

Chloe nodded, wondering how Lucifer could be so keen to leave when he was obviously unwell, but also at how her priorities had reshuffled wildly in the past couple of hours. The Palmetto Street case had obsessed her for ages… but now?

Chloe Decker had a new mission. All she could think about was Lucifer and making sure his brother was brought to justice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos :) I'm so happy some of you are enjoying my story!

Chloe hurried over to Lux as soon as she left work the following afternoon. She’d been horrified by the news that Lucifer had checked himself out of hospital as soon as the electrogram had confirmed his heart was fine. He’d apparently attempted to leave as soon as she’d departed, but the doctors wouldn’t let him. They’d almost had to get the orderlies to strap him down.

Downstairs in the club, Maze leant against the bar, sipping some alarmingly neon-blue liquor. She raked Chloe with a disapproving glare that Chloe refused to bless with any kind of reaction.

“How is he?” asked Chloe.

“Lucifer? Ugh!” Maze pulled an even more disgusted face. “He’s upstairs, lounging around like a hungover sloth. I can’t stand to be around him right now—he keeps on whining he feels sick. It's pathetic!”

“I’m sure he’s really appreciated your support.” Chloe’s tight smile dripped as much sarcasm as her words. She hurried over to the elevator.

She discovered Lucifer lying on his sofa, wearing just his boxers, a sling on his arm, and his dressing gown draped around his shoulders. He was so absorbed in the show he was watching on the telly—an old episode of NCIS, apparently—that he didn’t even notice her until she spoke.

“Hey, Lucifer.”

“Detective!” He pressed silent on the remote, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. The bruising on his face had faded, quicker than Chloe had expected, but his complexion remained waxy. Seeing him ungroomed with his hair an unkempt mess was weird… though rather cute. Not that Chloe found him cute.

She pushed _that_ consideration away fast. “How are you? Feeling any better?”

“A bit.” He cringed, then slid back down, so his head rested on a cushion he'd placed against the arm of the couch. Chloe’s worry spiked, as he appeared to turn a shade paler in front of her eyes. “Actually, suddenly a lot worse. I feel… uh, rather unwell.” He reached out to grab a glass from a low table nearby. He’d gotten it to his lips, before Chloe realized, to her horror, that it contained what appeared to be whisky.

“Lucifer, I don’t think that’s a good—”

She broke off, hurrying toward him, because it was too late. Lucifer had taken a gulp of the whisky, and it evidently hadn’t made him feel any better. She grabbed the glass from his hand, as she feared he would to drop it.

“I think I’m going to be…” Lucifer swallowed hard and lay back; up close, she noticed his lips were parched and dry. “No… it’s okay. It’s passed. I’m absolutely fine. Sorry about that, Detective.”

“You don’t need to apologize, but…” She perched onto the edge of the adjoining sofa, and leaned forward to squeeze his good arm. “But I think you’d feel a lot better if you sipped water rather than whisky. Can I get you some?”

“Water’s dreary, and I _like_ the taste of whisky,” complained Lucifer. “I don’t understand. Why does whisky suddenly taste vile? Why aren’t I healing?”

“I think you need to give yourself a break; a chance to recover.”

“It shouldn’t take this long,” snapped Lucifer. “Even Amenadiel’s clumsy handiwork shouldn’t take this long to be rid of, at least on earth.”

Like the previous night, his anger seemed tinged with genuine distress, so Chloe decided not to force the issue, or demand an explanation. How could Amenadiel have ever attacked him _not_ on earth? Then again, Lucifer did have mild concussion, so was probably dazed and confused.

“Alright, it’s okay. I’m sorry it’s taking so long, but you need to be patient.” She rose and made her way over the bar. She was relieved to find there was a sink behind it. She doubted it was used for much other than rinsing out glasses. She poured Lucifer a tumbler of water, and made her way back over.

He’d turned the sound up on the TV again and appeared entranced, clearly wishing to escape from his real-life predicament. She handed him the glass of water, which he regarded warily. He scowled as she crouched in front of him, blocking out his view of the TV.

“Just have a bit,” she coaxed him; it was as bad as trying to get Trixie to take some icky-tasting medicine. “It will make you feel better. Please, give it a try.”

“If you insist, Detective.” He took a tentative sip, then smoothed his tongue over his dry lips, moistening them while savouring the taste. “Actually, it doesn’t taste that bad. It’s… surprisingly delicious.” With a few more swigs, he finished the glass and handed it back to her. She perched onto the edge of his sofa this time, a little farther down so he could see the TV again.

“Lucifer, we need to t—”

“If this tedious mortality glitch continues any longer,” he interrupted, “you’re going to have to become a lot more like Ziva.” It took a moment for Chloe to realize he was talking about the character on NCIS. She really hadn’t watched that show in a while. “Did they teach you any super-lethal ninja assassin skills at police school? They might come in handy, just as a temporary measure, until I’m back to into full-on protective devil mode. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“I’m sure it won’t.” She slid her hand to touch his thigh, which finally snatched his attention from the show. She captured his gaze and held it. “Lucifer, we need to talk about your brother.”

“Oh, if you insist.” He silenced the TV again and tossed the remote onto the table. “Very well, come at me! Nail me while I’m vulnerable!”

“Don’t be like that, this is important. Yesterday, you implied that he’d attacked you before.”

“Look, this has been happening since the beginning of time, literally. Well, almost. Amenadiel has always been a power-hungry dick. ” His mouth twisted cynically, and he seemed to retreat into unpleasant memories, before shaking himself out of them. “We don’t _always_ fight, mind. We sometimes rub along okay. We even did the dirty together once.” He dropped his bombshell as blithely as if he was telling her they’d shared a picnic. “It was rather delightful, actually, until he blamed me for leading him astray and punched me. Which was all a bit rich, as I didn’t exactly pin him down and force him. To my recollection, my dear bro’ did most of the pinning.”

Lucifer smirked. He actually _smirked_. For a few racing heartbeats, Chloe had no words. Her hand had turned rigid on his thigh before she remembered it was there and withdrew it; he’d not asked her to touch him, and suddenly she felt like she’d no right.

“I’m so sorry, Lucifer. This has got to stop. We _will_ stop him, I promise. You have got to press charges. I can help you take out a restraining order.”

“I don't want to rain on your parade, Detective, but that just won’t cut it with Amenadiel. And, you know, you can’t exactly blame an angel for having the odd sparring match with the devil. It’s just what we do.”

Chloe called on all her professional—and maternal—experience not to snap with frustration. “I understand how hard this is, but can we let the metaphors go, just for today?”

Lucifer sighed and sagged even deeper into the cushions. “You want the truth? Very well. I can handle my angelic arsehole of brother, and I’m really not having the deep rooted “feels” about it all that you think I am. If you haven’t got a new case or anything interesting to talk about, I’d rather be left alone with Ziva and her fascinatingly tight-fitting combat pants.”

Lucifer grabbed the remote and turned his show back up. Chloe folded her arms, tight-lipped, as she strove to keep her emotions in check. She hadn’t expected Lucifer to make this easy for her. He was tough and prideful, but also more deeply damaged than she’d ever imagined.

“Okay,” she said, her words almost drowned out by the noise from the telly. “Do you intend to talk to your therapist about what happened with your brother?”

“Why would I do that? I go to Dr. Linda to talk about somebody interesting— _me_!”

Chloe took her leave. She well knew when she was fighting a losing battle, but there was no way she was going to lose this war. It wasn’t Lucifer she should be fighting anyhow, and her next move seemed obvious. She knew Dr. Linda Martin wouldn’t disclose to her anything that Lucifer had shared during their sessions. Nevertheless, Chloe felt compelled to tell Linda what she’d learned about Lucifer’s relationship with Amenadiel. Linda was far better qualified to help Lucifer open up about his dark and damaging secrets. Hopefully, she would urge him to do the right thing.

***

Chloe’s finger was poised above the buzzer at the entrance to Linda’s building, when she spotted the woman herself, heading into a coffee shop across the street. She hurried over, and caught up with Linda as she was ordering a flat white.

“Dr. Martin?”

“Oh!” Linda blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose, before conjuring a sparkling smile. “Detective Decker, isn’t it? You work with Lucifer, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Uh, I know this is a bit off-beat, but could I have a word with you about him? Something’s happened.”

“Oh my God, is he okay? He didn’t show for his appointment yesterday and never returned my calls.”

Yeah, that was just _so_ Lucifer. When he really needed his therapist, he wouldn’t even pick up the phone to her.

“He’s okay,” said Chloe quickly, to reassure Linda he wasn’t dead or anything terrible. “But… he’s also really _not_ fine. There’s some stuff, about his family, that I think you ought to know.”

Once they were both equipped with coffees, they found a quiet table to the rear of the store. Chloe updated Linda on what had happened, in hushed, careful tones. As she moved through the story, she watched Linda’s face stiffen with the same horror and fury that churned in her own gut. Both their coffees turned cold, untouched.

“To my mind, it’s an incredibly abusive relationship,” concluded Chloe, “and I don't honestly buy that Amenadiel is really his brother. They don't look at all alike. Oh, and I can’t believe I undermined Lucifer in front of that bastard the other day. We were undercover at an auction, and I was all, “Oh, your brother is so handsome,” deliberately putting Lucifer down.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips; she’d been beating herself up over that moment ever since she’d found Lucifer on the beach. “I bet that sicko was completely getting off on it.”

“None of this is your fault, Chloe. You’re doing exactly the right thing, looking out for Lucifer and coming to me.” She puffed out her cheeks, evidently shaken up. “This is one heck of a lot to take in. I think we should go up to my office to talk some more.”

“Yeah, that’s a very good idea.”

They were about to step out onto the sidewalk, when Chloe saw _him_. Amenadiel. Acting as if she’d spotted an armed killer, she threw an arm out in front of Linda and pressed her back into the coffee shop.

“What is it?” asked Linda.

“That’s him,” breathed Chloe. “The guy just going into your building.”

“That’s Dr. Canaan,” said Linda. “He’s a colleague of mine, he can’t be—”

“That is Lucifer’s brother.” Chloe failed to keep the contempt from her tone. “So, he’s a therapist?”

“Yeah, at least he claims to be.” Linda sat down heavily in an empty chair, poleaxed. “Chloe, this is worse than we even thought. Way worse. I don’t even want to go to my office while he’s around, if he’s as dangerous as you say.”

By the time they arrived back at the precinct, Linda had told Chloe more than enough for her to believe she could bring down Amenadiel, even without Lucifer pressing charges. Amenadiel, so it seemed, had wormed his way into Linda’s confidence—claiming to be a disinterested fellow therapist—then had been attempting to influence the advice she gave to Lucifer. Linda was willing to make a statement, and married with Chloe’s knowledge of what’d happened on the beach, it was enough to build a case. Of course, it wasn’t homicide, so not Chloe’s department, but her overworked colleagues were happy to let her file the paperwork. She stayed at the office with Linda, while a couple of beat cops headed off to Linda’s building to arrest Amenadiel.

The mission, however, proved a failure. Amenadiel was nowhere to be seen, and none of the suspiciously scant paperwork in his office contained any personal details or address. Moreover, even before this bad news came through, Chloe felt decidedly uneasy. Lucifer would doubtless react furiously. The least she could do was be brave and tell him in person about what she’d done.

As soon as the BOLO had gone out on Amenadiel, she steeled her nerve and headed over to Lux again.

Lucifer was still lying on the sofa in his dressing gown, watching NCIS. She was pleased to note that the glass of whisky had been replaced by a large and expensive bottle of mineral water. He looked somewhat nonplussed when she asked him to turn the TV off properly this time, but then sat up and asked her if she’d like to help herself to a drink from the bar.

“Seeing as I’ve developed a temporary allergy to anything decent to drink,” he said, “ _somebody_ might as well enjoy my range of classic single malts.”

She declined, and then, after drawing a deep breath, confessed everything about her interview with Linda and the LAPD’s attempt to arrest his brother.

She’d been braced for Lucifer to blast her with anger. What she hadn’t expected was for Lucifer to collapse back down onto the sofa in hysterical laughter. 

“Detective,” he sniffed, wiping tears of mirth from his face, “please don’t make me laugh. It really…” He broke off to half-giggle, half-hiccup. “It really hurts! And you can’t arrest an angel, Detective. He’ll just fly away.”


	3. Chapter 3

Deep down, Lucifer didn’t find anything that the Detective had just told him concerning her attempts to arrest Amenadiel funny. Indeed, by _not_ exploding with rage, he’d shocked himself, although he was also relieved. He didn’t want to scare the Detective.

Not that his devil face would’ve showed. The bloody thing had gone AWOL, along with his healing abilities and the lion’s share of his strength. The whole situation had become so absurd, he just _had_ to laugh, clutching his bruised ribs and chuckling so hard the sofa shook.

The Detective’s doleful expression of sympathy irritated him just enough to dampen his mirth. “Please,” he gasped, controlling himself, “just let it go. With any luck, he’s flapped off back home, and won’t show his sanctimonious visage any time soon. You might have done me a favour.”

She thinned her lips and nodded in that way she often did when his behaviour displeased her. “Okay, that’s fine,” she said. “You take it easy.”

He flipped his hand dismissively. “Goodbye, Detective. Call me the moment you’ve got an interesting case, okay?”

“I will,” she said, then the elevator closed and she was gone. Lucifer’s anger exploded, white-hot and sudden as a nuclear reaction.

He jumped to his feet, then grew even more livid when the room spun about him, and he flopped back down onto the sofa. He punched a cushion, then picked it up and hurled it across the room. He was angry with the Detective. Why should she care so much, when she wouldn’t even sleep with him! As for Amenadiel, how _dare_ he mess with Dr. Linda? He’d very much like to stab the bastard with Azrael’s blade. He’d give it a good twist, just to provide maximum torment.

Worse, why had he just thrown that lovely, comfy cushion away? It made a really nice pillow, and now he was going to have to get up, stagger across the room and fetch it, because he wasn’t going to call Maze up just for that. He was tired of her laughing at him for being pathetic, though surely he’d shake off this inconvenient mortality glitch soon…

The elevator dinged, and Lucifer’s heart leaped with hope, even as he despaired at himself for it. If the Detective had come back, at least he could ask her to fetch the cushion for him.

Instead, bloody, sodding, stupid, oafish Amenadiel strode into the penthouse.

Lucifer snarled, picked up a glass tumbler and pitched it toward his brother with all the power he could muster. He’d summon the strength to get up and punch the bastard. Any second now.

Amenadiel ducked the flying missile, which shattered against the wall behind him. He then raised both hands, in a placatory gesture. “Okay, Luci, I admit, I went a bit far the other day. But really, what evil have been up to? What have you done to me?”

“Oh, _please_ chance the record. It was outdated when Mozart was born.”

Enough was enough. Mortality glitch or not, Lucifer was going to give Amenadiel what for, whatever it cost him. His anger once again spurring him on, Lucifer pushed himself up and lurched across the room. With the arm that wasn’t in a sling, he swung a punch toward Amenadiel’s nose. Unfortunately, the momentum dragged the rest of his irritatingly unstable body forward too, and he tumbled into Amenadiel’s arms. So, snatching victory out of the jaws of humiliation, he kneed Amenadiel hard, right in the balls.

Amenadiel went down. They ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, Lucifer sprawled on top of his brother. He couldn’t enjoy Amenadiel’s agonized grimaces as much as he wished, as all his bruised and injured parts mashed into Amenadiel’s rock-hard, angelic body.

“Truce?” wheezed Amenadiel, once he’d regained the puff to speak.

Lucifer wasn’t in the mood for truces. But seeing as he wasn’t sure he could even get up, he silently conceded he didn’t have much choice.

***

Once Lucifer was settled back on the couch, Amenadiel fetched his cushion—the most useful thing Lucifer believed his brother had done in several thousand years—then stood looming over him. Amenadiel slammed Lucifer with a grave, sanctimonious stare that made Lucifer wish to punch him all the harder.

“This is serious, Luci,” said Amenadiel, his hands resting complacently on his hips. “Your mortality glitch is clearly getting worse, and somehow, it has rubbed off on me. When I hit you, you bruised my knuckles. And look!” Amenadiel stepped back into a larger space and unleashed his wings. Lucifer stretched his eyes wide, doing a double-take. Amenadiel’s formerly glorious silver-grey wings were hilariously skanky. Some of the feathers drooped precariously and others had gone altogether, leaving threadbare gaps.

Lucifer grinned. “Oh dear! What a terrible shame. I’m so terrible sor— Oh, hold on! You beat the shit out of me, landing me in hospital, and now you’re blaming _me_ not just for bruising your knuckles, but for the bloody obvious truth!” He rolled onto his back, laughing nastily up toward the heavens, hoping Dad could see them both. “You’ve _fallen_ , brother, like I said you would. It’s _nothing_ to do with me.”

“It’s everything to do with you,” whined Amenadiel. “You provoked me into beating you, like you provoked me into… what happened before, in your bed.” He sat down on the arm of the couch at Lucifer’s feet, sinking his face forward into his hands. One of his flopping feathers came loose and drifted to the floor.

Lucifer, who suddenly found he was feeling quite a bit better, sat up. When Amendiel peeped at him between his fingers, Lucifer slammed him with a hard stare.

“Firstly,” said Lucifer, “make your bloody mind up. Have you caught mortality off me like it’s a nasty cold, or have I provoked you into falling? Obviously, both are _all my fault_ , but I’d like a bit of clarity on my exact sin. Secondly, my friends at the LAPD are extremely keen to have a chat with you. Oh, and to charge you with assaulting big, bad me!”

Lucifer relished Amenadiel’s look of horror.

“It’s going to be delicious,” said Lucifer, “when all your feathers fall out, then they lock you up, and you can’t even fly away.”

As he thought through the implications of everything he’d just learned, Lucifer bit back his glee. The notion of Amenadiel going to jail, while entertaining, had its drawbacks. Not least because he, Lucifer, would be painted as the victim in the case. The devil, mortality glitch or otherwise, was nobody’s sodding saint _or_ martyr. The whole affair would be deeply embarrassing, and would ruin his public image. The Detective’s sympathetic looks were horrifying enough. No wonder she refused to sleep with him.

He’d look weak. Even weaker than he already looked, and everybody would know about it. No torture in hell could be worse than _that_ , and he should bloody well know.

As Lucifer’s mind raced, Amenadiel kept whinging on. “Luci, you’ve got to call them off. I can’t go to jail! I’m an archangel. Father would never stand for it.”

“ _Dad_ can bust you out then,” bitched Lucifer, but he knew couldn’t rely on Dad. He could never rely on that bastard. He drew a deep breath, silently cursed how still it made his chest twinge, and then made an executive decision.

“Can you still fly?” he asked Amenadiel.

“I really don’t know.” As if responding to his doleful answer, Amendiel’s wingtips drooped a little farther; the edges of his lips tugged downward in amusing synch.

“Fine,” sighed Lucifer. “I’ll drive you out of town to some obscure backwater where you can get over your mortality glitch. And then you can bog off back up to the Silver City, and leave me alone for good.”

***

It took a while to fight their way out of the LA traffic jams, but once Lucifer hit a clear freeway, he slid the corvette into top gear, put his foot down and went for it.

He was feeling way better than when Amenadiel had first rocked up. He’d ditched the sling, and although his shoulder still ached and the seatbelt dug against his bruises, he felt okay to drive. With the roof down, and the wind ruffling his hair, he would have really enjoyed the drive… if it wasn’t for Amenadiel’s constant complaining. Lucifer did his best to ignore him, until Amenadiel started insisting he should take the wheel.

“I will never let you drive my car,” said Lucifer. “If my eyes were gouged out and I couldn’t see, I still wouldn’t let you.”

“Humans can drive,” scoffed Amenadiel. “My senses are rather sharper than theirs.”

“Most of them can _barely_ drive. Not as well as me.” Lucifer slightly undermined his point by swerving out around a truck, that was trundling along at forty MPH in the gutter. He hadn’t looked, just trusted to his divine luck, which it suddenly occurred to him might be dwindling with his immortality. Fortunately, nothing was coming the other way. He swerved back onto the correct side of the road, amused to note that Amenadiel was clutching his seat, his knuckles pale. “I’m not trusting you with my wheels. That’s the end of it.”

“It’s such a shame,” said Amenadiel, “that you don’t trust me anymore.”

Lucifer didn’t favour that ridiculous statement with an answer.

“It’s probably best,” said Amenadiel at length, “our splitting up like this. If I get away from you, I’m pretty sure my powers will return in no time.”

Lucifer, not for the first time on their journey, wished he had a button for an ejector seat. He wondered if he could get one fitted, like in a James Bond car, because it would be glorious to see Amenadiel hurtling up through the air—preferably wingless—and landing in a painful, crunching heap. The image amused him, although his temper darkened as another explanation for their collective mortality issues occurred.

“You still think my mortality problem rubbed off on you, don’t you?” he said. “Well, listen up, because I don’t think so. I mean, I had a mild case of mortality before, but I had my strength, my devil face... everything was working fine most of the time. Now I'm a bloody mess! I think _your_ mortality glitch rubbed off on me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Amenadiel. “You started this. You provoked me, seduced me...”

The freeway ahead and behind them was empty; Lucifer slammed violently on the corvette’s breaks. The car screeched to halt in a blaze of burning rubber. He rounded on Amenadiel, snarling and pointing accusingly.

“Free will, brother! It’s not just my prerogative—you’ve got it too! Did Dad tell you to sleep with me? How about beating me to a pulp on the beach? Did he command you to do that too?”

Amenadiel opened his mouth, lips twisting toward a belligerent response. Then he gaped like a goldfish for a moment, before knitting his mouth tight.

“No, I didn’t think so,” said Lucifer. “Remember Cain and Abel? Yeah, Abel was a total shit, and has served a long sentence in hell for it, but nobody blamed him for the actual killing thing. Everyone blamed Cain, because the whole murder affair was Cain’s doing. So, you can’t blame your brother, for when _you_ decide to hit him! I mean…”

Lucifer backhanded Amenadiel hard.

Amenadiel clutched his cheek. “Ow!”

“ _That_ was my fault,” spat Lucifer. “My bad, and I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not, but that’s beside the point. I think, dear brother, back on that beach, _you_ cast the first stone. _You_ tried to take the speck out of my eye, before you’d retrieved the ruddy great log out of yours. YOU. FELL. _”_

Lucifer articulated the words with such emphasis that Amenadiel flinched, far harder than he had when Lucifer hit him.

“And the most hilarious part is,” said Lucifer, jamming his face so close that Amenadiel shrank away, “I believe you somehow dragged _me_ —the devil—down after you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is mainly Lucifer and Amenadiel bickering... whoops, I seem to enjoy writing that ;) We're back to Chloe's pursuit (and relieving some of that tension!) in the next chapter, promise ;)

Night crept toward them, a dark purple ribbon growing ever thicker on the horizon. Lucifer accelerated relentlessly toward it.

He did feel better; a lot better, in fact. The sharp pains in his chest had subsided to a dull, gnawing ache, not much worse than his fading bruises. Nothing he couldn’t endure. The most annoying thing now—save the presence of Amenadiel, who’d turned silent and sullen, staring out of the window—was his tiredness.

Yet again, Lucifer cursed his stupid mortality glitch. He never usually felt this sleepy, even after a week-long bender. His brain filled with a gloopy fug. He had to blink hard, constantly shaking himself in order to stay awake.

In the end, failure was inevitable.

“Lucifer! Wake up!” Amenadiel’s shout jolted Lucifer back to the present, and it was Amenadiel who grabbed the wheel. He swerved the corvette back onto the correct side of the road before they slammed straight into the gigantic truck that’d been careering toward them. The prolonged hoot of its horn rang in Lucifer’s ears as he grabbed back control of the wheel and pulled the corvette up onto the dusty verge.

His heart was hammering, adrenaline rendering him nervy and edgy in a fashion he’d rarely experienced before. He stared across at his brother with he feared were wide, panic-stricken eyes. He despised himself for it, but he trembled all over and needed to catch his breath. He was still _so_ off his top devil form.

“Well,” said Amenadiel, “you nearly solved all our problems in one fell swoop there. That truck could’ve sent me straight back to heaven, you straight back to hell.”

Amenadiel sounded exasperated, but there was a glint of something sinister about him—of _something_ that Lucifer couldn’t trust. He recalled what Amenadiel had told him before his wings had been auctioned. Having the devil killed would be an easy solution to all Amenadiel’s woes.

“Why didn’t you just let it happen, then?” demanded Lucifer. “Unless… you’re scared. Now you’ve fallen, who knows where you’d rock up—maybe we’d _both_ go to hell.” Regaining his poise, Lucifer cackled with deliberate malice. “Oh, that is priceless. I don’t think there’s room on my throne for two, but I’m sure I could find you some kind of menial duty that would suit your talents. There’s always a vacancy for slopping out those many pigsties.”

“You have pigs in hell?” Amenadiel blinked, momentarily distracted. “Why pigs..? Oh, I don’t care. You’re wrong, Luci. I wasn’t scared of going to hell. I trust Father too much for that, and he trusts me.”

“Oh ye of too much faith.” Lucifer switched the key in the ignition, restarting the motor. “Watching you realize the truth about our beloved daddy is going to be so much fun. I wish I’d brought popcorn.”

Amenadiel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, as Lucifer pulled back out onto the road, Amenadiel touched his arm softly. “You’re tired. You’ve driven enough for one day. If you won’t let me have a go at the wheel, I think we should pull over at the next human habitation. You need to sleep.”

“So do you,” scoffed Lucifer. Still, he had to concede that Amenadiel, for once in all eternity, was right. He was knackered.

***

The motel, with its flashing neon sign dangling from one hinge, was somewhat beneath Lucifer’s usual standards of accommodation. Miles from anywhere, he didn’t have much choice.

The man at reception wore a stained turquoise t-shirt. He took a full fifteen seconds to look up from his cell and greet Lucifer and Amenadiel with a grunt.

“What a delightful establishment you have here,” said Lucifer. “I love the Saw-movie-esque chique. Do you have any suites? Two, preferably.”

“Don’t have any poncy suites,” said the man, looking back down at his phone. “Got one room left, fella. Take it or leave it.”

Lucifer produced a large wodge of cash from inside his jacket and offered it. “Maybe you could persuade some of your other guests they’d like to share.”

“I’ve got a biker gang in.” The hotelier deigned to look up at them. “ _You_ want to ask them to share?”

Lucifer glanced at Amenadiel, who shrugged. Usually, “persuading” any form of puny human, moulding them to their will, wouldn’t have been an issue. But Lucifer was simply too tired, and Amenadiel didn’t look fussed.

“We’ll share,” said Amenadiel to the hotelier, who promptly snatched the cash from Lucifer’s hand. “We’re brothers,” he explained.

Lucifer simply couldn’t resist. “Oh, don’t be ashamed, honey.” He offered Amenadiel a secretive smile, as he smoothed a crease on his brother’s grey cotton shirt. “The nice man doesn’t _care_ that you’re my sugar daddy.”

“Your sugar what?”

“No, I really don’t care what shit you two get up to.” The hotelier plonked a brass key with a worn leather fob on the counter. “Check out by 10am. Don’t wreck my room.”

***

“I didn’t think today could get any more hideous. Seems I was mistaken.” Lucifer scanned the poky room. It’s beige décor was even more faded than the motel lobby. The “double” bed, with its dirty coverlet looked barely large enough for one decent-sized angel. He threw himself flat, and the bedframe emitted a noisy squeak.

He sat up and took a swig from the bottle of vodka he’d paid the hotelier well over the odds for. It tasted awful. He slammed it on the tottering bedside table, and flopped back down again.

“I’m so bored! Bored of not being to drink as much I like. Bored of feeling like shit and of being alone.”

“You’re not alone,” said Amenadiel, closing the door behind himself. The frame was so low they’d both had to duck beneath it. He looked uncertainly around the room, and then headed for a worn easy chair that was tucked beside the half-open window.

Lucifer sneered at him, regarding him through the blur of his closing lashes. “You're not exactly my first choice of company right now. Ever, in fact.”

“We _were_ close once.” Amenadiel adopted his favourite, affronted “how can you hurt me like this” tone, which he always used when they discussed the past. It had as little impact on Lucifer’s conscience as it usually did.

“No, we weren’t, actually. I chiefly recall you being a megalomaniac prat. Dad’s mini-me, in fact. You were such a puppet, I often wondered if he had his great hand up your arse, directing your every move, your every word.” Lucifer spoke squeakily out of the corner of his mouth. “Oh, Luci, how can you be so naughty. It’s spanky time… again!”

“Don’t be crude. It wasn’t like that. We had good times.”

“If you say so. Maybe we can add tonight to the list of delightful occasions we’ve shared together. At least this bed is comfy.” Lucifer rolled gingerly onto his side, trying to get comfortable and failing. “Oh, hold on, no. There’s less hard lumps in the pits of hell! What am I doing here? I have an emperor size bed at home, with lovely, smooth one-hundred-percent mulberry silk sheets. Ugh, I suppose I can at least have a shower.”

Lucifer pried himself up, having spotted a door in the corner that he trusted would lead to a cramped, insalubrious bathroom.

The instant Lucifer vacated the bed, Amenadiel got up, eyeballing it covetously. “I am the eldest,” he said. “I really should take the bed.”

Lucifer’s fist curled at his side; maybe just a quick swing would help relax the tension broiling inside him. “I'll just take the chair, shall I, with my dislocated shoulder and cracked sternum? Or maybe I’ll just lie on the floor at your feet.”

“Okay, okay, you have it.” Amenadiel backed out of Lucifer’s way as he stomped toward the bathroom. “In the circumstances, I suppose it’s fair.”

_Fair?_ Lucifer couldn’t even be bothered to start explaining to his stupid brother what would be fair right now. He’d like to have demonstrated it by shoving Amenadiel’s head down the dirty toilet and flushing it. Instead, he took a shower, performed the very basics of male grooming, then dressed in the pyjamas he’d swiftly packed in an overnight bag. He claimed his place in the damp-smelling bed. Amenadiel, who didn’t have any other clothes to change into, crammed his bulky body into the chair, his head contorted awkwardly to one side.

Lucifer curled up and tried to sleep. He was incredibly tired, and he nodded off swiftly enough. His slumbers proved shallow and fitful, however, constantly interrupted by Amenadiel’s moaning and groaning and constant wriggling.

“Can’t you keep still and quiet for five sodding seconds?” Lucifer switched the light on, glaring blearily at his equally bleary-eyed brother.

“It’s not my fault, Luci, I can’t sleep in this chair. My neck is all cricked and my back is killing me.” Amenadiel flexed his head from side-to-side, wincing. “If you weren’t so… prickly…. Perhaps… if I could?” He nodded toward the bed, before finally getting to the point. “If you budged over, there has to be room for two in there.”

“Whatever.” Lucifer rolled over and shifted to the far side of the mattress, pulling as much of the counterpane with him as he could, tucking it tight around him. He turned a cold shoulder to his brother, who had stripped off his shirt and now climbed in behind, making the bed sag and creak even louder than the chair. With a loud “harrumph,” Lucifer switched off the light.

***

When Lucifer awoke, something truly unspeakable had happened. During the night, either through the sick machinations of fate or of Dad, Lucifer had rolled over into Amenadiel’s arms. He was cosily nestled against his brother’s bare torso, his cheek snug beneath Amenadiel’s shoulder. Amenadiel’s chest rose and fell, and he snored softly.

Lucifer’s entire body turned rigid as a pencil, horror trickling through him as he realized exactly what part of his brother was digging into his stomach.

He twisted free and shoved Amenadiel away so hard that, had he not awoken abruptly and saved himself, Amenadiel would’ve tumbled off the bed.

“ _Whut_?” Amenadiel sat up, bewildered and confused, while his clunky mind whirred into action. “Luci, what is it? You look… scared? What wrong? You’re never scared!”

“I’m not in the slightest bit scared,” snarled Lucifer, and he wasn’t. He _really_ wasn’t. He’d rather go back to hell than concede he could ever be scared of Amenadiel, but the barrage of powerful emotions and painful recollections from the last time they’d shared a bed—and then images of Amenadiel’s flying fists—were proving just too much to handle. “I’m just hoping that _I_ wasn’t part of whatever disgusting dream you were having.”

Amenadiel, who now smirked down at a visible bulge in his trousers, didn’t seem to hear him. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Now, Luci, I know this looks bad, but no, I wasn’t dreaming about you. Please don’t take advantage of me like last time this happened.”

“Believe me, _that_ was the last thing on my mind. I'm actually rather repulsed.”

Amenadiel pulled the cover across himself, his brow furrowing with his usual shallow, ignorant brand of hurt. “I’m your brother—how can you find me repulsive?”

Lucifer, who’d been about to retreat into the bathroom, whirled around and all but spat venom. “You once told me I was disgusting, despicable and deplorable, and you’ve called me much worse. Didn't stop you wanting to sate your little sin stick in me, did it?”

For the second day in a row, Lucifer snatched solace in the matter he’d managed to silence his brother. Amenadiel repeated his goldfish impression, opening his gob and shutting it again, words failing.

“Look,” said Lucifer, “let’s just get ready and get out of here. The next decent sized township we find, I’m heading back to LA, and you're on your own. Negotiating the human world whilst still devoid of your powers isn’t sufficient punishment, if you ask me, but the mess you make of things will be hilarious. I almost want to stay and watch. _Almost_.”

“But you can't just dump me like I'm a piece of garbage!”

“Oh, and you’d never do anything like _that_ to me, would you?” Lucifer slammed the bathroom door so hard, the whole room rattled and quaked.


	5. Chapter 5

Chloe hurried through the lobby of the precinct, bound for the elevator down to the parking lot. It’d been a stressful past twenty-four hours, and she should be leaving the pursuit of Amenadiel to another department. The charge wasn’t homicide, and it wasn’t her case.

She also knew how low down the LAPD’s priority list the case was. Since she’d learned from Mazikeen that Lucifer and Amenadiel had last been seen heading off together, however, it’d remained at the top of hers. A BOLO had finally come in—a man fitting Amenadiel’s description had been spotted at a gas station fifty miles east of the city, accompanied by somebody who fitted Lucifer’s description. Seeing as no other law enforcement officer had time to care, she’d taken emergency leave, and was on it.

She’d just selected the button for the parking lot, when a chunky arm jammed in the sliding elevator doors, stopping them from closing. Anthony Paolucci stepped in.

Malcolm’s partner. Shit. If it hadn’t been for this business with Lucifer, Chloe wouldn’t have been able to think of anything save the matter that Malcom had died last night. Yeah, she felt bad. Not bad enough to close the case, though, not without giving the matter more consideration, and she’d not found the mental space for that yet.

Paolucci regarded her strangely, without the malice she’d expected. “Hey, Decker,” he said, “not got your bodyguard with you today?” Paolucci rubbed his face, roughly where Lucifer had hit him. “That guy sure had a sweet right hook.”

“Lucifer’s out of town, and he’s not my bodyguard. I don’t need one.” Chloe regarded him warily. She been braced to get an earful from the bastard, even to have to physically defend himself. His body language, like his demeanour, seemed oddly relaxed. He leaned back against the elevator wall, looking down his nose at her.

“I’m sorry about Malcolm,” she said.

“Sorry enough to close the case against him?”

“I… uh, I’ve got a lot on right now.” She thought about Malcolm’s family. Whether he’d been crooked or not, they deserved their pension payments.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening into the dimly-lit parking lot. “You have a think about it,” said Paolucci, and he loped away. Chloe was halfway to her car, when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

“Dan!” She spiralled about, managing a distracted smile.

“Chloe—was that Paolucci you were talking with?”

“Yeah. He seemed… oddly okay with me, actually. Maybe now Malcolm’s dead he’s, I don’t know, moving on?”

“I still don’t trust him,” said Dan. “Stay away from him, Chloe.”

“I don’t think there’s a problem.” She shrugged. “You on your way to pick up Trixie?”

Trixie was due to stay at Dan’s for the next two nights. He grinned, and held up two cinema tickets. “I’m taking the munchkin to see the Minions movie. We’re both mega excited.”

“That’s great,” said Chloe. “I, uh, might be out of town for a day or so. You two have fun.”

“Where are you going?” Concern and a tinge of anger creased Dan’s brow. “This isn’t to do with goddamn Lucifer and that business with his brother, is it? Seriously, Chloe, that man is mixed up in some dark shit, but he’s also big and scary enough to look after himself. I don’t know who I’d rather you stay away from more—him or Paolucci.”

Chloe reiterated tersely that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and walked away. His words left her wondering, though. Why, exactly, was she putting herself out so much for Lucifer? She’d not even known him that long. They were partners, but that hadn’t been her choice. Were they even really friends?

But nothing could blot out her memory of when she’d found him, lying broken on the beach. She cared for Lucifer; probably more than she’d like to admit, and she’d never deny how much she cared about justice. Right now, ensuring that Amenadiel could never hurt Lucifer again seemed more urgent than even finding out the truth about Palmetto Street. Malcolm was dead. If Lucifer was with his violent brother, he might be in imminent danger.

She climbed into her car and programmed the navigation to take her way out of the city, toward the gas station where the BOLO had come in from.

***

When the engine of his beloved corvette disgorged a coughing, spluttering noise, Lucifer knew his day was going to get even worse. The tank was full of gas, so that wasn’t the problem. He pulled up on the verge. When he tried to start the engine again, the bloody thing just whirred and clicked at him and then… nothing.

Lucifer located his cell-phone. He’d five missed calls and seven messages from the Detective, which made him feel somewhat guilty; he was still new to this tech stuff and he’d not had it on since they’d left L.A.. But he couldn’t call her back any more than he could call roadside assistance. Here in the middle of nowhere, there was no network signal.

Five minutes later, he’d propped up the bonnet, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Amenadiel. The pair of them stared blankly at the jumble of metal and wires that constituted the corvette’s inner workings.

“It’s a shame,” said Lucifer, “that Dad never really taught us anything useful. A little bit of car maintenance, some basic mechanical engineering? It would have come in handy right now.”

“You know that none of those silly earthly laws apply in the Silver City,” said Amenadiel. “Father taught us everything we needed to know. If you’d ever cared to listen.”

Lucifer gritted his teeth. Even now, Amenadiel had to get a dig in. Suddenly, he felt desolate. A few days ago, he would’ve been able to turn on that sweet engine with the power of his mind. Then Amenadiel showed up, and dragged him down, robbing him of his powers, his dignity… and now his wheels.

Amenadiel re-directed his obtuse stare at Lucifer, evidently expecting Lucifer to do something, to fix the car. To take responsibility for everything bad that ever happened. Everything bad. Ever, ever, ever.

Deep inside, something snapped. Lucifer yelled, loud and hoarse, toward the heavens; he swung his leg back, ready to kick the bumper of the corvette, then thought better of it, spiralled about and kicked a rock instead. The largish bolder soared through the air as if it was light as a beachball, but Lucifer’s powers were still not quite back to rights. He plonked to his haunches on the ground, clutching his bruised toes.

“What did you do that for?” asked Amenadiel. He sank down at Lucifer’s side, and patted Lucifer’s back. “Are you okay?”

“No,” shouted Lucifer, shifting out of Amenadiel’s reach. “I should’ve kicked you, but I’m going mad. I’m going bloody mad! Why did you have to come and wreck my life just as everything was going so well? Again! Yet again!”

Tears pricked his eyes, tears of utter, helpless fury, that only made him madder as they trickled down his nose. He snarled furiously, turning his face from Amenadiel. He ought to kill the bastard, throttle him with his bare hands. Although he doubted that would help him in the long run, it would solve his short-term problems.

“I… I’m sorry.”

Yup, Lucifer definitely was going mad, because sorry wasn’t a word in Amenadiel’s vocabulary. He wiped the incriminating dampness from his cheekbones and stared at the horizon. How long would it take him to limp back to the motel, he wondered?

“Lucifer, I’m sorry,” repeated Amenadiel.

Lucifer fell perfectly still. His brother was plotting something, clearly. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry about what I did to you on the beach. I’m sorry about when we… slept together… about a lot of things. I’m sorry that I seem to have fallen. That _we_ fell.” Lucifer felt an odd, slithering pressure about his shoulders, and he realized that Amenadiel was sliding an arm around him. “Some of those things you’ve been saying… they make sense. Perhaps I’ve not been the… kindest big brother to you. And I can see that, in your own twisted way, you are trying to help me.”

Lucifer cackled bleakly, batting Amenadiel’s arm off and jumping up before the idiot tried anything else. The pressure on his newly-bruised foot hurt, but he hid his wince behind another mirthless laugh. He loomed over Amenadiel, who’d turned amusingly sheepish; those silly great doleful eyes wore contrition rather well.

“Don’t flatter yourself that I’m trying to help,” sniped Lucifer. “I’m just using my _twisted_ wiles to get you out my life before you humiliate me any further with your cloddish ways. And your terrible dress sense.”

He dabbed his face, then checked his cuffs didn’t look damp. He refused to think too hard about the magnitude of Amenadiel’s apology. He was sick of all the intense “feels,” and anyhow, Amenadiel was undoubtedly dissembling for some vile reason. Tricking him. Lulling him into a false sense of security, so he’d be malleable and pliant for the next blow. Yes, Amenadiel was probably all set to hammer him with the next stage of Father’s torturous plan…

And, shit, his ankle throbbed. What a helpless fool he’d become. He plonked himself back down on the dirt next to Amenadiel.

“What are we going to do?” asked Amenadiel, staring into the road and shaking his head. “Luci, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve never felt so lost.”

Okay, maybe Amenadiel wasn’t quite as on top of everything as Lucifer assumed. He smoothed down his rumpled jacket and enjoyed a more prolonged, sidelong look at his slumped and bewildered brother.

“I know you’ve got wing rot,” said Lucifer. “ But is flying really out of the question?”

“Let’s see.” Amenadiel stood up and assumed his usual air of pompous archangel superiority. The threadbare wings that sprouted from his shoulder-blades had Lucifer exploding with laughter that, for once, he actually felt.

Amenadiel, however, was not to be easily put off. He puffed out his cheeks, and after several effortful flaps, his toes lifted a few inches from the ground. “There,” he said, grinning. He held out his arms, his wings flailing manically. “Would you like me to carry you?”

He crashed to the ground, landing on his belly in a shocked and undignified heap. Lucifer threw himself back onto the dirt, holding his sides as he shook with laughter. Amenadiel retracted his wings and rolled over to lie beside him, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks.

A short while later, Amenadiel propped himself up on one elbow, trying to regain his puff. “I haven’t laughed like this,” he said, “in a very long time.” His expression turned very grave. “Since you left, Luci. I haven’t laughed like this since you left.”

“I didn’t leave.” Lucifer sat up abruptly, his glee killed stone dead. “I was thrown out. By you. On Dad’s instructions.”

“That is true,” said Amenadiel. He didn’t apologize again, at least, not with his lips, yet his gaze was tinged with tenderness. Lucifer looked away. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t accept _that_.

He sighed. His foot felt a lot better, which was a good sign. His healing abilities remained a little sluggish but otherwise restored to him. Still, the sun was scorching down, and he’d never been a fan of country hikes. In all honesty, he’d never been on one. They sounded interminable.

“Come on,” he said. “We’d best get moving. It’s going to be a long walk back to the motel.”

***

Chloe pushed the swing doors open and stepped into the motel lobby. The place reeked of sweat, chunks of plaster were missing from the ceiling. Hardly the kind of place she’d expect Lucifer to have stopped. Nevertheless, it was the first habitation she’d reached since the gas station where Amenadiel and Lucifer had been spotted, and they had to have spent the night somewhere.

She flashed her badge, then pulled out her cell to show pictures of Lucifer and Amenadiel to the guy at reception.

“Yeah, those two spent the night here. What’re they guilty of? The dude in the slick suit was flashing his cash around. Robbery, huh? Fraudsters?”

“No. Nothing like that. Have you any idea where they were going to?”

“I don’t keep track of where folks are coming from, and I don’t give a crap where they’re going. That said, there’s only one road, so if they were coming up from the city, they just kept going straight on across the plain.”

“Thanks,” said Chloe, tucking away her phone. “I’ll be on my way.”

She made a beeline back to her car, shuddering at the seediness of the place. At nearly 11 a.m., the parking lot was deserted of people, although quite a few cars were still parked around. The whole place felt like a ghost shack. Plus, that neon sign hanging on one hinge had to be a major health and safety issue. It could fall and smash somebody’s head open. She was considering returning to the motel and telling the proprietor to fix it pronto or she’d report it, when she discerned a footfall behind her.

She turned about. “Hello, Decker,” said Paolucci. “Thank you. You really have made things simple for us—driving into the middle of nowhere, so nobody will hear your screams. So nobody will ever find your body.”

Her hand shot to her gun halter, but it was too late. Somebody grabbed her from behind. An overpowering chemically and sweet-smelling cloth smothered her face, and her world faded to black.


	6. Chapter 6

“I have these nasty sensations in my feet,” said Amenadiel. “I understand even less now why you cut off your wings, Luci. Having to walk everywhere is deeply unpleasant.”

Lucifer sighed, shading his eyes against the intense midday sun, as they plodded back along the road toward the motel. He’d spotted a building on the horizon, probably only a mile or so off. Lucifer feared they’d never get there fast enough to prevent him throttling his whining sibling.

Though, annoying as Amenadiel was, Lucifer felt as relaxed in his company right now, as he had in… forever, really. Something had fundamentally changed the strongest of God’s angels, maybe even beyond him losing his powers. Or maybe not. It was hard to be a power-proud dick when all your powers had flopped off, and Amenadiel had never exactly been a deep thinker.

“Ow!” Amenadiel took his weight off one foot, attempting to hop. “This is unbearable. What is happening to me now?”

“You have blisters,” explained Lucifer. “Humans get them when they don’t choose properly fitted footwear. Fortunately, these shoes come from a delightful, bespoke cobblers in a tiny hill-town, somewhere on the other side of the world. Designed exclusively for me, the leather’s like molten velvet. The neighbouring vineyard does a very fine vintage, too.”

“Some of us don’t have your access to funds,” grumbled Amenadiel, limping as he struggled to keep up with Lucifer’s pace. Lucifer’s toes remained a tad twingy, but he figured he was rather more experienced at enduring pain than Amenadiel. He wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. Would do Amenadiel good to suffer a little. “Where _do_ you get all your money?”

“That would be telling.” Lucifer pitched his bewildered companion a sly smile. “Let’s just say that, when I got here, I saw it as a moral obligation to be richer than God.”

When they at length staggered into the motel carpark, sweat dripped from both their brows. Lucifer suspected that the repairs to his beautiful shoes might cost him fair bit of postage to the cobblers. He was about to accost the slovenly hotelier for change to call a mechanic, when he spotted a familiar figure climbing out of a car that’d just drawn up in the parking lot.

“Detective Douche?”

Dan spiralled about and muttered a stream of obscenities.

“Well, isn’t this just adorably creepy?” Lucifer leered predatorily at Dan; he just couldn’t help himself from kicking the annoying puppy. Or winding him up to hell and back. “Are you my latest stalker? I had no idea you were that fond of me—or that you had such great taste. Is stalking me a new thing, or have you been lurking for some time? Hmmm, yes, there is something about you that just _screams_ voyeur.” He waggled his finger between Dan and Amenadiel. “Old creepy stalker, Amenadiel, please meet my newest creepy stalker, Dan. You two should get together, share notes—"

“Shut up, Lucifer,” snapped Dan. “This is serious. It’s Chloe. Look, that’s her car.” He nodded toward a familiar black saloon.

“Oh, I get it now,” said Lucifer. “You’re not stalking _me_. You're stalking your ex! Still creepy.” Worry hit him, and he furrowed his brow. “What was the Detective doing here?”

“Coming after you,” said Dan. He pointed at Amenadiel, who hovered awkwardly at Lucifer’ shoulder. “That’s your brother?”

“Correct, unfortunately,” said Lucifer, enjoying Amenadiel’s wounded glare. If the archangel wanted to make money, he should surely patent that expression. “Why was the Detective coming after me?”

“She was worried about you.” Dan snorted, grinding the heel of his boot into the concrete. Lucifer felt pretty sure Dan was imagining _he_ was beneath said heel. Not that he cared. He was still getting his head around the matter that the Detective had been concerned enough to drive across the desert after him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but his insides turned peculiarly fuzzy. “But none of your shit matters, because I wasn’t following Chloe. I was following Paolucci.”

“Who?”

“A guy who I'm pretty sure wants to hurt her. Remember the Palmetto case? The policeman, Malcolm, who was shot, died recently. I believe Paolucci blames Chloe. When I left the precinct, I was worried he’d go after her, so I tailed him. All the way here. And now he’s not here, Chloe’s not here…”

“…but her car is,” said Lucifer, his calm voice belying his simmering blood. “Are you trying to tell me that somebody has kidnapped the Detective?” _His_ Detective. His Detective who, though he could scarce understand why, was chasing after him. “What was the reprobate driving?”

“A black Mercedes Sprinter van,” said Dan, pulling out his phone. “Fake plates, I think. He’s not stupid. Look, I'm going to call this in. I don't know if he’s really got Chloe, or how much back-up we'll get—I'm snitching on a fellow cop, and that never goes down well. For now, I’m going to go talk to the guy at reception, check if he saw or heard anything else that might help. You two stay here, right? I hate to stay it, but I need all the help I can get on this.”

Dan headed toward the motel, mumbling into the mouthpiece of his cell. Lucifer, fists clenching and unclenching at his side, scanned the dissatisfying array of cheap wheels and old bangers jumbled across the parking lot. His focus seared into them. Nothing mattered anymore—not his mortality glitch, and certainly not his brother. Nothing was of any consequence save going after the bastard who’d snatched the Detective. If he hadn’t been genuinely worried about her, the magnitude of this distraction would have been a relief.

Vengeance. Punishment. It was so much simpler than family and “feels.”

“Luci, what are you doing?” asked Amenadiel.

“Choosing a ride.” Lucifer’s vision latched onto a 1980s Porsche 911. Scratches marred an already dodgy orange paintjob, but it would do.

Lucifer stalked toward it, thrilled when he squeezed the door release and it opened instantly. He slid onto the worn leather seat. What a useful time for his powers and mojo to avalanche back.

“But that isn’t your car!” said Amenadiel, who’d followed him over. “You can’t just take it. Weren’t you going to call a mecha—”

Lucifer slammed the door closed, and glowered meaningfully at the ignition. The engine didn’t start. Okay, so maybe not all his powers were quite intact again. Fortunately, he was able to apply one of the few mechanical skills he had picked up during his time on earth—hot wiring.

Seconds later, Lucifer raced the Porsche out of the parking lot, leaving Amenadiel standing, mouth agape, and with wheelspin screeching in his ears.

_***_

“What the hell?” The little man, Dan, raked his fingers back through his hair. “You’re telling me Lucifer just _stole_ a car?”

Amenadiel regarded him with a modicum of sympathy. Dan, who now leaned heavily back against his own vehicle, looked notably befuddled. And Amenadiel had been grappling with a bout of befuddlement ever since that night on the beach.

He’d had a plan. Amenadiel should’ve been back in the Silver City now, with Lucifer safe and sound back in hell. He’d orchestrated the theft of the wings to make Lucifer _want_ to go back to hell; to make things _easy_ for his brother, and yes, for him, Amenadiel, too. He had even had a plan B, if Lucifer had refused the simple route. He’d been going to snatch back the soul of that dying cop, Malcolm, to set him on a course to do away with Lucifer.

But then Amenadiel had lost control for just a few minutes, he’d been too late to save Malcolm and… everything had gone very wrong.

The loss of his powers wasn’t even the most befuddling part of it all. Since he’d crossed the line with Lucifer, since he’d kicked his brother just a little too hard, Amenadiel had been experiencing a new and very intense feeling, the meaning of which he’d not figured out yet.

“Jeees,” Dan was saying. “What is it with Lucifer?”

“I’m afraid my brother’s moral compass has always been somewhat lacking. I do apologize for—”

“Okay, I’m going stop you right there, Ad… Ameni… uh… Whatever your stupid name is.” Dan plied Amenadiel with a look of repugnance that confused Amenadiel all the more. It was even stronger than the dislike Dan had shown for Lucifer. How could anybody ever like him, a morally impeccable—well, impeccable- _ish_ —archangel, less than the devil himself? “There’s a BOLO out with your face on it, pal, and if you weren’t the least of my worries, I should slam a pair a cuffs on you right now.”

“Ah, yes, you’re trying to apply your earthy laws to me, but there’s no need. _I_ act with divine authority."

“Oh my God, and I thought Lucifer was bad! I have never met such an arrogant arseh—” Dan broke off, as the window of the car behind him wound down. A cherubic little head poked out, replete with pigtails.

“Daddy, I’m bored of sitting,” said the cherub. “Can I get out of the car now?”

“Soon, Trixie, I promise. Daddy’s just got to wait for some his police buddies to get here and then we’ll go somewhere more fun.”

“I can watch your offspring if you want to go look after Lucifer and Detective Chloe yourself,” offered Amenadiel.

The cherub’s face crumpled. “Are mommy and Lucifer in trouble?”

“No, mommy’s just fine," said Dan. "I need you to wind up the window and play with your tablet for just a little longer. And then there’ll definitely be chocolate cake on the agenda. Okay?”

“Okay.” Trixie seemed dissatisfied with her father’s offer. She obeyed, nevertheless.

“Is it common practice for law enforcement officers to bring their progeny to work with them?” asked Amenadiel.

Dan hustled him a small distance from the car. “Look, it's spring break, and I didn't have much choice but to bring her. I hoped I was just being paranoid about Paolucci following Chloe, and we were going to turn it into a picnic and camping trip.” Dan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I’m so worried. Chloe is Trixie’s mom, if anything happened—"

“Well, my offer is still on the table, Daniel. I can watch over your little lamb, if you feel the need to go after her mother.”

The glare that Dan hammered into him was the most mortifying yet—a blitzkrieg of naked horror and revulsion. “Are you kidding me? You beat your brother! I mean, Lucifer’s a big, tough guy, and you landed him in hospital. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a pain in the arse, I feel like punching him a lot. I might even take a swing one of these days. But what you did? Something else, man. Chloe said he didn't even fight back—and you’re his older brother! So, if you think I'd leave my daughter with you..?” Dan turned his back, shaking his head. “Over my dead body.”

It was as if Amenadiel had been speered through the heart. He wanted to argue; he wanted to tell the inconsequential little human he was wrong. Amenadiel was an angel, ready at any moment to unleash his glory, his divinity—the first being in all existence one should want to watch over their vulnerable flock.

But that horrible tight feeling in Amenadiel’s chest had grown too strong, stretching up his windpipe to choke him. It was all he could do to squeeze out guttural words: “I understand.”

***

The instant Lucifer spotted the black van up ahead, he floored the accelerator, savouring the still-sweet purr of the ageing turbo-charged engine. He didn’t need to check in the rear-view mirror to know that his eyes flared scarlet, but there was one thing he had to be sure of.

He willed his devil face into existence, and a glance at his reflection assured him it was present and correct. Interesting. It seemed Amenadiel really had been responsible for his mortality glitch of late, and he had shaken it off… although that didn’t explain why he’d bled when the Detective shot him a few weeks past. Still, he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He’d nearly caught the van. With his devil powers securely returned to him, punishing these bastards who’d dared snatch his partner was going to be _fun_.

Lucifer reverted to his preferred form and swerved the car off the road. He bumped, partially airborne, over a hundred yards of rough terrain, then veered back onto the road and into the path of the van. He “donutted” the Porsche three-hundred-and-sixty degrees then another one-hundred-and-eighty for good measure, slamming on the brakes. Climbing out, he inhaled the smell of burning rubber. He’d have to buy the owner of the Porsche a complete new set of tyres.

He dusted down the front of his suit, sighing down at his scuffed shoes as the van also drew to a halt, it’s route blocked. Then he stalked around to the driver’s door, shoved his hand through the opened window, and grabbed the collar of the angry, beetroot-faced driver. He went to yank the bastard out.

Unfortunately, the bastard stayed put. Lucifer’s angel-strength had done yet another vanishing act.

“Oh, bloody hell. Not again.” Lucifer frowned, recognising the driver, whose shirt he still grasped—the unpleasant man who’d been rude to the Detective and who Lucifer had been compelled to punch at that downmarket police drinking spot. “Oh, it’s you again. Hello, there.” He bore his teeth threateningly. Divine power or otherwise, he was going to take this creep down.

“Yeah,” snarled Paolucci. “It’s me again. Goodbye!”

Something cracked hard on Lucifer’s skull from behind. “How cliché,” Lucifer managed to mutter. The world turned dark, his knees buckled and he collapsed.


	7. Chapter 7

When Lucifer came to, his head throbbed like crazy. It hurt even more than his neck, which was skewed uncomfortably to one side. Straightening took way more effort than it should. On prying his eyes open, his stomach lurched, and he added feeling nauseous to his list of current woes. The list lengthened worryingly, as he took in his surroundings and recalled how he’d got there.

He was in a creepy wooden barn, empty save some rusted machinery and a pile of broken agricultural tools. Someone had tied him tied to a chair with thick ropes, his hands bound behind his back. He groaned.

“Lucifer?”

At the Detective’s concerned cry, Lucifer’s stomach flip-flopped ominously. He felt warmth and movement against his hand. Glancing down sidelong, he realized it was her fingers. He wiggled his against hers.

“Detective,” he croaked. “How did we end up in a tacky 1970s horror movie? I wish you’d stuck to flicks about hot-tubs.”

“Don’t joke, Lucifer. I was so worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I’ve… been better,” said Lucifer, wishing the art of lying came easier to him. He was still trying to process why she cared so much when she wouldn’t have sex with him. He was pleased that she cared, naturally, but it was all way too complicated to deal with right then. He yearned to reassure her, promise her they’d be out of there in a jiffy, but when he strained against his bonds, they obstinately refused to snap. His attempts to break free drained him, so he stopped. “I’ll be okay soon.” Just as soon as this latest bout of mortality had passed. “How about you? Are you hurt?”

“Nothing awful,” she whispered. “I think they used chloroform on me, so I’m a bit woozy, but we have to try and get out of here. Your fingers are longer than mine. Can you reach anything in my pocket? There might be a pen there or something, which we could pick a knot with, or you could store it away for use a weapon.”

“Punishment by biro. That might be a new one, even for Maze. Or maybe not.” He tried to reach her pocket. His fingers skittered over her hand, skimming her butt. “It’s not every day you invite me to grope you, Detective.”

“Lucifer!” He pictured her rolling her eyes at him. He enjoyed the image, though he failed to reach anything of use. Voices sounded from outside the barn and his stomach roiled again.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” he whispered. “I can’t find anything. We could tip the chairs over, and untangle ourselves that way?”

“Fine,” said Chloe, but then the door of the barn flew open. Paolucci and another man stepped in. “Not now,” she whispered. “Let me handle this.”

“Handle what, Detective Decker?” said Paolucci, striding toward them and smiling viciously. “Oh, I remember. _I’m_ what you’re going to be handling.”

“If you lay a finger on her,” growled Lucifer, “I will personally ensure you’ll wish you’d never existed.”

“Oh, we’re not going to touch _her_. Not yet.” Paolucci’s chum, who’d Amenadiel’s build, and so Lucifer hoped, Amendiel’s slow wits, approached Lucifer with a knife. Lucifer held his breath, and waited for the opportunity to fight back that he held faith would come. He felt Chloe’s breath, hot and balmy on his shoulder, as she strained to see what was happening.

“No!” she shouted, obviously discerning the glint of the blade.

“Relax, sweetie,” said Paolucci. “Jo here’s not going to stab your partner.”

“Oh?” Lucifer arched a brow, watching with interest as Jo cut his bonds. He even let the man tug him to his feet, while he battled off a wave of dizziness. Once that’d passed, he clenched his fists and straightened his spine, towering over them. He could take these two puny humans…

Paolucci, who lingered a few yards off across the barn, whipped out a handgun. “Nah, what would be the point in stabbing your partner? After all, you were responsible for the _shooting_ of mine.”

Lucifer heard the blast; he smelled the pungent nitro-glycerine. As he dropped to his knees, he realized where the bullet has passed. Straight through his gut. His hands grasped faintly at his shirt, which was already soggy with hot blood. His blood.

“Detective?” He landed heavily on his side; blood filled his throat and he started to choke.

“Now, Decker,” said Paolucci, “let’s just get you facing the right way, and then _you_ can see what it feels like to watch your partner die. And then? Then you can follow him.”

***

Amenadiel squatted on the curb of the parking lot, his chin rested in his hands. He’d been unable to find any good reason to deny that the little human—Dan—was at least _partially_ correct. Far from an archangel arraigned in all his spotless glory, Dan saw him as a violent thug who he’d not trust with his little daughter. As if he’d hurt the child! The very notion set his anger simmering. He ought to smite Dan for the very suggestion, and yet…

What he’d done to Lucifer. It didn’t look or feel great. Yes, Father had given instructions, eons past, to take Lucifer to hell and make sure he stayed there. The methods? Those had chiefly been Amenadiel’s… choices. God hadn’t explicitly told him to beat Lucifer. Accepting this was hard. It meant that Lucifer had been at least _partially_ correct when he’d lectured Amenadiel on free will.

He spotted Dan coming out of the motel lobby, holding Trixie’s hand. She was grinning, holding a bar of chocolate, which the father must have appropriated from the unkempt hotelier. As they approached, he could see the lines of strain etched on Dan’s face, but he was still smiling and chatting to his child. For reasons Amenadiel couldn’t fathom, he could not endure looking at them. Somehow, Dan made him feel… unworthy.

Unworthy! Him, Amenadiel, first and greatest of God’s angels, left with his powers fading and his rock-solid faith in himself shaken to his core. No wonder he had fallen. And it was still all damned Lucifer’s fa—

Then he heard it, whispering faintly through the ether.

_Amenadiel… Amenadiel? I’ve hit a spot of bother. I don’t know if you can hear this, but if you can, I need you. The Detective needs you._

Amenadiel blinked into the too-bright sunlight. Lucifer! Lucifer was praying to him; calling him. At least enough of his power remained to receive the message.

“Luci?” he whispered.

_You’ve got to come. Save… Save the Detective._

“Where are you?”

_It's an old barn... must be somewhere off the road, just after where we left my car... help… please? I think… I think I’m dying. You’ve… you’ve got to save her. Save Chloe._

Horror pooled in Amenadiel’s gut. “Alright, I’m coming. Is there anything more you can tell me?”

No answer came. Amenadiel jumped to his feet, determined yet unsure what he was going to do. Another whisper entered his mind. One very much in his own voice, a sinister tone that he’d listened to for millennia.

He’d wanted Lucifer dead. It was still the cleanest, swiftest method of getting his brother back to where he belonged. Yes, that over-zealous policewoman might be lost too, but she was just a human, and it wasn’t like either of them would be wiped from existence. Chloe Decker would surely speed straight to heaven, just as Lucifer would plunge conveniently back to hell.

“What’s with you?” Dan’s words ripped Amenadiel back to the present. “Calm down, man. You look like you want to strangle somebody.”

Amenadiel’s torment must’ve been plain to see. He tried to calm down; all he had to do now was nothing, and it would be best if he felt nothing too. But that troubling sensation at his core, that intense, sickening heaviness that he still couldn’t get his head around, worsened every second.

Dan was crouching down, talking to his offspring, in hushes tones that Amenadiel couldn’t hear. The girl’s high-pithed voice carried easy enough though.

“Daddy, what’s wrong? Is mommy really okay? She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

This time Amenadiel caught Dan’s reply. “She’s gonna be fine. We’re just waiting for daddy’s police buddies then we can get on with having fun, okay?”

_Amenadiel… pleeease… they’re going to kill her!_

Amenadiel caught his breath and held it. Lucifer’s message was fainter than the last, strained and thready. Those weighty sensations in Amenadiel’s chest seemed to swell to fill his entire torso, squeezing his lungs until he could hardly breath.

“They’re in trouble!” he blurted out suddenly. “Both of them. Lucifer and the mother. I’ve got to do something.”

Dan shot him a glare so thunderous it nearly felled him. “Don’t listen to the nasty man,” he said to Trixie, whose eyes stretched wide with horror. “You get in the car and eat your chocolate, okay?”

“But I can’t eat chocolate when mommy—”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’ll all be fine soon, I promise.”

Once Dan had coaxed his daughter into the car, he rounded furiously on Amenandiel. “Thanks for that! Now, if there’s anything you know that can help, spill.”

“Whoever has kidnapped Detective Decker has Lucifer too. Their lives are being threatened.”

“Shit!” Dan rubbed between his eyes, then resumed his glowering. “And you know this how exactly?”

Amenadiel considered the truth, then thought better of it. “Let’s just say… my brother and I have a psychic link.”

“I really don’t want to believe that, but… Shit! Shit!” Dan paced up and down, looking as tortured as Amenadiel currently felt. “This is all my fault!”

“How can it be your fault, Daniel?”

Dan didn’t really answer Amenadiel, rather kept muttering fretfully to himself. “I should have spoken out. I should’ve known Paolucci was bent. I knew Malcom was... If something happens to her... I don't think I could live with the guilt.”

Moving swift as the wind, Amenadiel blocked Dan’s path, grasping his shoulders.

“What the hell, man?” Dan wriggled to free himself; Amenadiel wouldn’t let him go, fixing deep in his eyes.

“This guilt. What does it feel like?”

“You need to let me—”

“Tell me!” roared Amenadiel, and a little of his celestial awesomeness must have flashed through. Dan blanched.

“Uh, guilt, right. It feels… it feels like an iron band in your chest, squeezing ever tighter. It’s unbearable, man.”

Amenadiel nodded, his path suddenly obvious. He couldn’t let Lucifer die. He couldn’t let this child’s mother die, either. He’d never live with the… guilt. Yes! Guilt. He was guilty! That was why he had fallen. Now everything made sense.

He released Dan, who’s hand flew swiftly to the gun at his hip. “Try anything else, and—"

“I will go retrieve the mother and my brother,” boomed Amenadiel. “You stay watch over the fruit of your loins.”

“The fruit of my _what_?”

Amenadiel rushed around the back of the motel, finding a quiet spot not near too many windows. He willed his wings forth, screaming in frustration at the tragic results. His formerly magnificent feathers remained thinning and drooping. Some now crumbled like ashes. But somehow, someway, he _had_ to fly.

After several attempts, and much flapping, Amenadiel elevated himself into the air, soaring high as he dared so he could get a decent view of the landscape. Tracing back up the road, he soon spotted the corvette. Then, squinting in all directions, he scanned the landscape for human dwellings. On spotting a cluster of buildings, most likely a farmstead, he enjoyed a moment of self-satisfaction. Lucifer was there. He had to be. Amenadiel would save his brother, then this horrible, crippling guilt would fade away, and his powers would surge straight back.

He grinned. Then his wings failed, and he plummeted straight toward the earth. Only a flurry of desperate, final flaps saved him from a catastrophic bone-breaking landing.

***

When Amenadiel arrived at the barn, he was panting and out of breath and his feet were killing him. How did mortals cope—no wings, and then the perpetual punishment of blisters! Still, he’d no time to dwell on his woes. As he crept stealthily along the back of the large wooden building, he heard a hushed female voice. Chloe Decker. It had to be. Finding a crack between the timbers, he peeped inside.

It was gloomy in the barn, and it took a moment for his increasingly mortal eyes to adjust to the contrast of light from the bright outdoors. As he focussed, his stomach knotted ever tighter. Lucifer lay on the floor, slumped on his side. The Detective sat tied to a chair, about a yard off and facing him. “Lucifer, can you hear me?" she said. "Stay with me, please! Try to put pressure on the wound. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try. Please? Are you still with me?”

Amenadiel sped around the building until he found a door. He burst through it, then dropped to his knees at Lucifer’s side.

“Amenadiel!” Chloe gasped. “Oh my God, thank you for finding us. You’ve got to help him. I think he’s lost consciousness. You’ve got to put pressure on the wound or he’s going to bleed out.”

Blood had already pooled around Lucifer’s body; it seeped through Amenadiel’s trousers, cooling his skin. A far icier chill penetrated his heart, as he touched his brother’s throat, feeling for a pulse. Lucifer’s heart still beat, but it was weak and sluggish.

“Luci?” Amenadiel shook him gently, then lifted him so he cradled his limp upper body. Taking the handkerchief from Lucifer’s pocket, he pressed it to the wound. Blood saturated the fabric instantly. “Luci… Wake up. Please?”

“Don’t move him too much, I think—” Amenadiel couldn’t concentrate on the Detective’s words. All his attention was on his dying brother, and how he, Amenadiel, in all his long years, had never felt so… wretched.

This was his hard-earned victory; everything he’d long striven for. Lucifer was on his way back to hell. The very notion _broke_ Amenadiel, and not only because he might well be left among these pitiful humans all alone. Lucifer didn’t want to go back to hell, and Amenadiel now nurtured a horrible suspicion that this miserable ending was partially his, Amenadiel’s, fault, and even his brother mightn’t deserve—

“Amenadiel!” The Detective’s urgent whisper cut through his unhappy musings. “They’re coming back!”

Amenadiel blinked himself back to the present, hearing low voices getting louder, and footsteps approaching. After carefully placing Lucifer back on the ground, he rose to his feet, knuckles cracking as his fists formed tight balls.

He allowed the tidal wave of anger to engulf him; it comforted him too. At last, he could unleash his anger on those that truly deserved it. Fading powers or not, he would still crush these feeble villains.

He strode out of the barn, swinging the door closed behind him. On seeing him, both men momentarily froze. One reached for a gun, so Amenadiel fell upon him first, his fist cracking against the human’s jaw and sending him flying through the air, landing with a clatter among some rusting farm equipment. Amenadiel turned to the other, who was coming at him with a knife. He wrenched it from the reprobate's grasp, then dispatched him with a potent elbow smash about the face. His victim crumpled, senseless. Amenadiel rolled his shoulders back and allowed himself a smile.

Yup, he’d still got it. Well, _some_ of it.

He hurried back into the barn and used the knife to cut Chloe’s bonds. She was drawn and pale, and he noted a purple bruise blossoming on her forehead. The instant she was free, she jumped up and rushed to Lucifer’s side.

“I dealt with the criminals,” said Amenadiel, proudly clinging to the positives. This time, it was Chloe who didn’t seem to be listening. She picked up Lucifer’s wrist, her fingers pressing on one spot then another, ever more agitated and desperate. Then, frantic, she leaned close over him, clutching and shaking him. When she lifted her face to Amenadiel’s, the sunbeams that streamed through the open door glistened against her wet, tearstained cheeks.

“Amenadiel, it’s too late. He’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's doing okay. I'm not sure if I'll have extra time on my hands or not, but I'm personally desperate for something to take my mind of things, and if I do get time, i'd love to be able to read more fic and find out where fandom hangs out these days (I've only recently forged time to write again, and that's taken up most of my fandom time thus far...)
> 
> So... if anybody would kindly let me know, where does everybody chat fic these days? (I personally date back to the times of LJ!!) Is it tumblr? If so, hopefully will set up an account soon :) Thank you :)


	8. Chapter 8

_“Amenadiel, it’s too late. He’s dead.”_

Amenadiel gaped down at Chloe, who kneeled over Lucifer’s body. Tears trickled down her face.

He couldn’t move; he could scarce breathe. He had no sense of triumph at sending Lucifer back to hell. His guilt weighed so heavily he feared his legs would buckle. On top of that, yet another new sensation hit him like a wrecking-ball. Could it be… _grief_? It was all too much. He’d need centuries to get his head around what these awful happenings meant to him.

Everything before him unfolded in slow motion, as if he’d slowed time, although he’d not attempted that for days. Any such power was beyond him now. The Detective rose very slowly, her hands raised. Why was she doing that? Something hard jabbed between his shoulder blades.

“Good try, big fellow,” said a snarling voice behind him, and Amenadiel wanted to roar. If his powers had been as they should, one smite of his mighty fist would’ve laid a human low for weeks.

Instead, the scoundrel poked one of those silly little gun things into Amenadiel’s back. He huffed at his own ineffectualness.

“Back off, Paolucci.” Chloe’s voice trembled with fury. “Nobody else need die today.”

Amenadiel desperately strove to stop time, never believing it would work. Chloe remained planted to the spot. Her panted breaths kept coming, hard and fast. He sighed, and then wondered, almost casually—would he go back to heaven, or straight down to hell? At least, if hell it was, he might be able to straighten things out with Lucifer.

***

Looking back, Chloe could never recall exactly how it’d happened. Paolucci had herded she and Amenadiel out of the barn, then lined them up against a nearby brick outbuilding. Her life hadn’t exactly flashed before her eyes, but the sorrow that filled her heart over Lucifer’s death was matched only by the realization that Trixie was about to lose her mommy. Desperate pleadings poured from her lips. She promised the world to that bastard, Paolucci—his freedom, his life, her cooperation in any cover-up, if only he’d let her live to look after her baby.

He’d laughed at her. She’d shrank back into the rough bricks beside Amenadiel, who’d seemed merely confused by the whole situation, showing little fright. Despite all her training, Chloe’s fear nearly claimed her. Bile filled her throat, and her knees felt like jello. Amenadiel’s large hand found and squeezed hers, but provided little solace.

Then Lucifer had showed up.

He’d strode out of the barn, his shoulders squared almost as wide as the door, his vibrant snarl defying his bloodstained clothes and the matter than he’d recently been _dead_.

He’d wrenched the gun from the startled Paolucci’s hand, bent the barrel as if it’d been made of plasticine, then felled the bastard with a single, effortless swipe. He’d then started kicking his victim, again and again. In the end, she’d had to ask Amenadiel to stop him, physically dragging him off. Given Amenadiel’s recent treatment of Lucifer, this request screwed her up, but she’d had no choice.

And there’d been that weird red glow about Lucifer’s eyes. It must’ve been the reflected light of the pink evening sun, right?

She didn’t know. She wondered if she’d ever know. Only one matter would ever be for certain—Lucifer had risen from being apparently dead and saved her. Chloe could help feeling that he’d changed her life forever.

If this change was for the good or not, she honestly wasn’t sure. It frightened her nearly as much as her feelings for him did. Because they were too confusing, too intense. Simply too much for Chloe Decker to handle right then.

***

_Two days after_

Lucifer went to pour himself another glass of whisky then decided to dispense with the glass. He took a healthy swig straight from a bottle of Glenmorangie, which was back to tasting superb, but didn’t help. There wasn’t enough whisky in all of Scotland, Ireland and the USA to drown his latest worries. And as for all those bloody “feels” he’d been having about the Detective, his brother, and, yes, _her…_ his most recent trouble? He’d had enough of namby-pamby sentiments for one immortal life time, yet the interminable things still bugged him.

He finished the bottle, and was just reaching for the tequila, when the elevator dinged. The Detective entered, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her expression grave. _Bugger._ He’d not seen her since they’d been picked up from that backwater hellhole where he’d died and then done the deal with Dad that was causing much of his current anxiety. He’d hoped saving her life might’ve helped her lighten up, and maybe, finally, sleep with him. That would’ve provided a delightful distraction. Her troubled demeanour spoke otherwise.

He managed a grin. “Detective! Come to thank me for saving you?”

“What? Oh… Oh yes, thank you for um… ” She rushed toward him. He reeled with pleasure as she grabbed his hand, the one that wasn’t grasping a liquor bottle. She held it in hers, caressing it with her delicate thumbs, then let it drop. She stepped back in a fashion that felt too much like a recoil, and stared up at him.

“I still can’t believe you’re okay.”

“Detective, I’m fine. I told you before, I always get better.” He cocked his head, smiling sweetly. “How about a dr—”

“No!” She raised a finger, silencing him. “You don’t wriggle out of this so easily, Lucifer. You died! You bled out in front of my eyes. I held you— _dead_ —in my arms. And then you just… just…” She paced to-and-fro, smoothing her hair agitatedly. “How? How do you explain that? Because there has to be some…” She stopped, threw her head back, and sighed toward the heavens he didn’t think she believed in. “Oh God, what is happening here?”

He fought off his irritation over that last misguided plea, and tried to fathom what to do. Those annihilating feelings just kept on coming. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her the truth. He desired it so desperately it hurt, but if he did, and _if_ she believed him… Then she’d learn what he was. And then… then she’d never accept him. She’d revile him… and… oh shit! Oh _Dad_! Bloody hell, he couldn’t handle this. She was crying. Trying not to, but tears streaked her cheeks. She was so desperate.

He placed the tequila bottle back on the counter. Even as he moved in to gently touch her shoulder, he steeled his nerve and re-erected the armour that’d so long encased his heart. He’d tell her the truth. At least, all of it that she could handle, but first he had to diffuse the intensity of this situation.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have sex with me?” he ventured. “I mean, we’ve clearly formed some sort of major connection here, what with chasing after each other, and me dying, and all that whatnot. A quickie here and now should help work off some of this tension.”

“Lucifer!” She batted him away and rounded on him, furious. That was better. He could handle her being cross with him. He was used to it. “You can't joke about something like this! And your brother—what is going on there? He tried to tell me you have low blood pressure, and you were never really dead, but I can't buy that kind of bullshit. And now the Lieutenant has ordered we drop all charges against him, because _you’ve_ had a word with her. What is going on? I need the truth.”

Lucifer retreated to the bar, sliding onto a stool. Drinking hadn’t saved him yet, so he lit a cigarette. “What do you want to know about first?” He took a long, soothing drag of nicotine. “I suppose the same answer suffices for both and I’ve already told you most of it. Amenadiel is an angel and I'm the devil. We've both been suffering from some kind of mortality glitch, but I believe the cause of his condition is rather different to mine.” He lifted a brow, hope springing eternal. “Actually, I have a theory that you could help me test. I don't suppose you’d indulge me with some kinky foreplay?”

Chloe’s expression remained very still, save her nostrils, which flared slightly.

Lucifer shrugged. “No, perhaps that’s not very _you_. But are you sure sex isn’t back on the cards? It won't prove my point, but it will be fun... No, Detective, please, don’t go.”

She retreated toward the elevator, shaking her head. He caught her wrist, and she whirled around. He could’ve dealt with more fury, but her evident disappointment proved a blow.

“Lucifer, I know things have been difficult for you. With your brother, your family. I can see now you’ve been through hell.” Nothing on earth could contain Lucifer’s joyless laugh, which set Chloe’s eyes flaring with fresh wrath. Oh, the many-layered ironies! “None of this is a joke,” she snapped. “Until you start being plain with me, I can’t handle this. I can’t handle you.”

She twisted free. He caught her arm once more, easily looping his hand about it, holding her loosely so if she really wanted to leave, she could.

But he didn’t want her to.

He couldn’t fathom why he needed her to stay so much. He’d other matters to worry about now, bigger fish to fry. The glare she slammed into him was laced with vitriol, but it waned when he spoke, a broken, lost-sounding, “Detective… _please_.”

He tugged her into his arms. She came willingly, and rested her head on his shoulder, embracing him tightly. Her hands smoothed his back, sending ripples of happiness through him that vied with his trepidations. “Lucifer,” she mumbled into his jacket. “I don’t know what you do to me. You… you make me feel so vulnerable, I guess—” She slipped away from his embrace too soon. “I guess… I feel I can open up to you, somehow, but you just won’t open up to me.”

“I am trying Detective.” He hating how wrecked his voice seemed, as he grappled to keep those sodding feelings in check.

At least, while she remained near, he could test one of his theories concerning his own mortality glitch. Why had the Detective been able to shoot him in the thigh that time a few weeks past, when he’d been otherwise in fine fettle? And why, when he’d been feeling so good his devil face had returned, had he been unable to drag Paolucci from that van with her in it, and smash the villain’s lights out?

Sliding his hands behind his back, he drew a small knife from his pocket and dragged the blade across his palm. Ow! Yup, that _stung_. Sticky blood warmed his clenched fist.

“I think you make me vulnerable too, Detective,” he said, as she retreated toward the elevator once more. “Thank _you_ , by the way. Thank you for coming after me, when I took off with Amenadiel. Not necessary, mind. I’m still not sure why you did it.”

“Because you’re my partner,” she said, without looking back. “I’ll always look out for you. It’s my job.” The words seemed too clean, too clinical. He knew she meant something else, something stronger. Something he didn’t deserve.

He watched her escape, his heart perplexingly heavy. He harboured a sneaky suspicion that sleeping with the Detective wasn’t going to be enough to solve anything between them anymore. He didn’t only want her body, anyhow, delicious though the prospect was. She was smart and resourceful… She was amazing! And he, typically, was already on the road to breaking his dear Detective, and she, so it seemed, him.

Because, if his theory was correct, _she_ was his mortality glitch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite the last chapter...

Chloe knew she had to get it together.

What had happened with Lucifer—there _had_ to be a logical explanation. Her need to find out tore her up inside. On the other hand, she couldn’t let this sole need destroy her. She’d already a time-consuming job, and her most important role of all, that of Trixie’s mom. Since Lucifer had exploded into her life, he’d commanded way too much of her emotional energy. What she felt for him was becoming all-consuming to her, and now..?

Chloe paused on the wide steps at the street exit from Lucifer’s building, taking a gulp of fresh-ish city air. She’d been so lost in her troubles, she’d not even registered the journey down on the elevator. She’d not noticed if Lux had been empty, or if Maze had been leaning on the bar and glowering at her as she’d passed through.

As she recognized the man approaching, anger overtook her efforts to re-centre herself. Her glower at matched any of Maze’s.

“Detective Decker.” Amenadiel smiled, faintly hangdog.

“You’ve got some nerve coming here. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Lucifer, but if you ever lay another finger on him—”

“I’m sorry,” blurted Amenadiel, hands stuffed in his pockets like an overgrown schoolboy. “I’m here at Lucifer’s invitation, I can assure you. What happened before… I can see now, I might have on some occasions been in the wrong.”

“ _Might_ have been?” Chloe shook her head. “I can understand why Lucifer wants to put what happened behind him, but it’s not just how you treated him physically that concerns me. All this garbage about angels and devils—did _you_ put that in his head?”

Amenadiel blinked. “I can assure you that I did not.”

“So, you’re going to tell me he made it all up?” It made sense, given how screwed up Lucifer’s family was.

“I can assure you that he did n—” The oddest expression ghosted across Amenadiel’s countenance. “I am glad he has a friend like you,” he said. “I think you are good for him.”

She wasn’t going to be fobbed off that easily. She folded her arms, deliberately defensive, and repeated the question that she just couldn’t stop asking. “So how exactly did Lucifer rise from the dead?”

Amenadiel’s answer began a little muddled, including the mixed-up shit he’d given her before about blood pressure. As it progressed, his message grew clearer. They’d had a very difficult upbringing. Lucifer was deeply troubled. He was a fantasist who’d conjured his devil persona to help him deal, and he must’ve been wearing a bullet proof vest and blood pellets. Indeed, Amenadiel assured her that he would show her the trick the very next time they met.

“Right. You do that.” She walked away, without a glance over her shoulder, and more troubled than ever.

Her head told her that, on this matter at least, Amenadiel must be right. But her heart and gut told her to trust Lucifer over Amenadiel, however little sense it made.

And that was the moment she realized—her new partner was so much more than a partner. Whether he was liar, devil, or fantastic hardly seemed to matter, because Lucifer Morningstar was fast taking possession of her heart.

All that Chloe had to decide was whether she could trust him with it. Or whether she should fight with all her considerable strength to take it back.

***

As the elevator whirred up to the penthouse, Amenadiel puffed out his cheeks, steeling himself. He desperately needed to talk to Lucifer, to get his head around everything that’d passed between them, let alone what’d happened to his own powers. The prospect of the meeting unsettled him, and that in itself was horrific.

How had it come to this? Amenadiel, strongest of God’s angels, afraid—no, afraid was too strong a word. Amenadiel was _apprehensive_ of speaking to his evil, loser little brother, who, so it turned out, might be rather more complicated and less evil and loser-y than Amenadiel had believed.

He stepped warily from the elevator. Lucifer, who sat at the bar wearing a plain white shirt with its collar unbuttoned and a criminally well-tailored pair of trousers, rounded on him and grinned. “Ah, Amenadiel, you took your time. I really want to talk to you.” He smirked, while lighting a fresh cigarette. “Who’d have thought? Anyway, I don’t suppose I could interest you in a quick round of kinky foreplay? Sadly, the Detective wasn’t up for it.”

Amenadiel froze. Okay, maybe Lucifer wasn’t quite evil, but he was still obscenely corrupt. Worse, the notion of any kind of sexual encounter with his brother brought the most excruciating segments of his guilt surging to the surface.

He _had_ slept with Lucifer once. He had committed the carnal sin of incest. Now that he understood that he couldn’t blame Lucifer for everything, that that his own darkest desires had propelled him to his brother’s bed… It was just too much. Dealing with that tangle of guilt, lust, and need was more than he could handle, maybe ever.

“Luci!” Amenadiel managed to sound aghast at his brother proposition. “We need to talk seriously. My powers still haven’t come back, and I need to know how you’re doing. How _did_ you come back from the dead, anyhow?”

“Oh, that’s the easy bit to explain and I’ll come to that.” Lucifer grimaced. “It, er, has some consequences that I might need you to help me with, but let’s focus on one thing at a time.” He stubbed out his hardly touched light and sauntered over. “Seeing as you’ve got blue balls, how about you take a swing at me?”

Amenadiel, utterly bewildered, backed toward the elevator. “No! I wouldn’t…I-I couldn’t. How could you ask that of me?”

“Oh, come on!” Lucifer surged close and sneered in his face. “Devil-bashing has been your number one pastime for the last few thousand years—what do I have to do to get you in the mood? Make your droopy feathers into a duster? Use your favourite necklace as a sex toy?”

Amenadiel drew another deep, calming breath. He knew what Lucifer was doing. He was simply being Lucifer—acting out when something upset him, trying to provoke. However, Amenadiel had learned something new. He had a choice; he didn’t _have_ to be provoked. And even if he was, he had a choice over how he responded. “I don’t know what this is about,” he said, level and placid, “but I’m not going to lay a finger on you.”

Lucifer backed off, shrugging. “No? Oh well, I suppose I’m just going to have to do this myself.”

He whipped out a dagger and slashed its serrated edge across the palm of his hand.

“Luci, no!” Amenadiel rushed forward to grab the knife from him before he did any more damage. When Lucifer showed him his hand, Amenandiel stopped in his tracks. There was no cut; no blood.

“You’re immortal again,” breathed Amenadiel.

“So it seems,” said Lucifer. “Most intriguing. There’s just one more thing I have to check.” He punched Amenadiel, who found himself sailing a couple of yards through the air before smacking into a concrete pillar and seeing stars. Before his splintered faculties could catch up, Lucifer had dragged him to his feet and pinned him to the wall with a choking grip about his throat.

“Well, haven’t the tables turned,” snarled Lucifer. “I’ve got my powers back, and yours… _poof_! Gone with the wind.”

“Come on, then,” wheezed Amenadiel. “Give me a beating. I probably deserve it.”

“Nah. Mindless thuggery has its time and place, but not today.” He released Amenadiel, letting him slide down the wall onto his butt. “There’s so many more fun ways in which I could punish you if I wanted. I only punched you to test my hypothesis.” He chuckled wryly. “I admit that I also rather enjoyed it. I expect you now need a drink, right? I always found it helped after you’d plied your lavish attentions on me in the past.”

Amenadiel, now admittedly terrified of his new situation, soon found himself perched on Lucifer’s couch, supping a rather good vintage Côte du Rhône. The wine helped a little, as Lucifer explained what he’d figured out about their mortality glitches. Chloe Decker, so it seemed, was the cause of Lucifer’s vulnerability—only Father could ever know why. Amenadiel’s condition, however, seemed the more permanent and serious. He really couldn’t argue with Lucifer theory of how it had come about.

The night Lucifer burned his wings, Amenadiel had sinned so deeply he’d fallen. He’d fallen so hard that somehow he’d dragged Lucifer down with him, although Lucifer, so it seemed, had bounced back.

“So, there’s faint hope that you will too. Very faint.” Lucifer swirled his claret around his goldfish-bowl size glass before taking a swig. Just as Amenadiel was about to protest that Lucifer was enjoying his, Amenadiel’s, sufferings a little too much, Lucifer stilled and grew serious. “Actually, I bloody well hope your powers do return, and soon, because I need some help with… uh, an even bigger problem.”

“How can any problem be bigger than mine?” protested Amenadiel. Then he frowned. Lucifer’s thoughts had clearly flown to something truly grim. As he refilled his enormous wineglass, Amenadiel noticed that his brother’s hand shook.

“Are you scared, Luci?” He reached forward and took the bottle from him; their gazes locked, and Amenadiel saw he was right. Lucifer’s eyes had grown huge, and yes, he looked terrified. “What is it? You’re never scared.”

“When I died, I made a deal with Dad, in order to come back to save the Detective. Oh, and your pathetic arse too—you’re welcome, by the way.” He forced a sarcastic smile. “You see, while _you_ weren’t guarding over it, a soul escaped hell, and now Dad wants me to find them and somehow send them back.”

“Is that it? Amenadiel laughed reassuringly, as much for his sake as Lucifer’s. “Just one errant soul? How hard can it be?”

When Amenadiel learned it was Mum, his blood ran cold. Okay, so he knew now why Lucifer was scared. Oddly, Amenadiel discovered that he wasn’t any more. 

“So, I need your help finding her,” Lucifer said, as Amenadiel yet again tried to get his brain to catch up with everything. “Not that you're as useful as you used to be."

“I'll do what I can,” said Amenadiel, as something else occurred to him. “Maybe helping you will set me on my path to redemption.” He reached across again, this time tentatively landing his hand on Lucifer’s knee. Lucifer tensed a little, then relaxed. Their eyes met, and he was delighted to note Lucifer’s fear had been replaced by a more familiar air of edgy enquiry. “I meant what I said before. I really am sorry. I have made many misjudgements over the years, and now I am truly reaping what I sewed.”

“Whining and self-pity won’t help you get your powers back.” Lucifer’s bitchy words defied the hand he now laid over Amenadiel’s. “I’m enjoying the grovelling, though. Shall we open another bottle of wine, and then you can grovel a little more?”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.” Amenadiel grinned, watching Lucifer as he glided gracefully back toward the bar.

Lucifer was right. How the tables had turned. Amenadiel ought to fear his brother. After all, he’d wronged Lucifer many times, he understood that now, and Lucifer was currently infinitely more powerful than he. What’s more, Lucifer knew how to nurse a grudge—his beef with Father had smouldered on since almost the beginning of time.

But, despite his wobbles earlier that evening, Amenadiel found he didn’t fear Lucifer, not really. And while some of his deeper, darker feelings toward his brother were still too raw to poke at, he abruptly realized what he did feel.

He was grateful. Grateful to Father—or actually, to Lucifer—that he’d been given a second chance. And that leaden guilt inside his chest? It was lightening just a little, replaced by a strange, glowing warmth toward his sibling.

When Lucifer brought over the new bottle of wine, Amenadiel simply couldn’t help himself. He filled two glasses and passed one to Lucifer. “I’d like to make a toast.” He cleared his throat then imbued his deep tones with the appropriate gravitas. “To us, Lucifer. To you and I.”

“How nauseatingly romantic.” Lucifer clinked his glass against Amenadiel’s, further ruining Amenadiel’s tender, brotherly “moment” with a suggestive snigger. “Does this mean you’re up for the kinky foreplay after all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not) the end.
> 
> So, this was the original ending, as written into the Lucifer/Amendiel story arc of the series, which will continue in another fic. But seeing I’ve also been enjoying writing Deckerstar lately, I’ve also written a Deckerstar epilogue to this story, which should be up soon.
> 
> Yes, I really do like to have my cake and eat it/eat my cake and have it ;)


	10. Deckerstar Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally finished this story on the previous chapter. Then I decided I fancied writing a Deckerstar epilogue, just to see if I could given them a "happy for now" in this alternate canon. I hope you enjoy my attempt.
> 
> If you want more Lucifer/Amenadiel, however, there's more!!!! I’m basically thanking/blaming Kymera219 for prodding me, but I have written a slashy alternative ending for the brothers, which should hopefully be up over the next week.
> 
> I have also started posting some crack fic from prompts I’ve been given, under the pseud katywritescrack. If you’re feeling brave, I’d be thrilled if you checked them out. In fact, the first one I've posted is an accidental satire of this scene, I guess. As evil!Chloe says in that, "Whoops!"

It happened again a couple of months later, on a beach with golden sands and under a scorching afternoon sun. Lucifer got shot.

On this occasion, he wasn’t injured right in front of Chloe’s eyes, but in the peripheries of her vision. They’d reached the denouement of a case. Lucifer had squeezed a confession from the leader of a vicious human-smuggling gang, and Chloe was cuffing the bastard. Dan and the remainder of their back-up had begun streaming from their surveillance vehicles. Amid the confusion, one of the gang-members whipped out a Beretta and the shot rang out.

_No!_

Chloe’s soul screamed, but she couldn’t _do_ anything save snatching fretful glances in Lucifer’s direction. Lucifer looked shocked, clutching at the patch of blood that spread alarmingly fast across his sky-blue jacket. She yelled for the medics, and then Dan was there, with a couple of other officers, taking over custody of the criminal. They blocked her view of Lucifer and spoke words that had no meaning or sense; she simply couldn’t fathom them.

“Lucifer,” she breathed. “He’s hurt… Where is he?”

She sidestepped Dan and another custody officer, who she elbowed out of the way. People were shouting, running everywhere. She noted impassively that the guy who’d shot Lucifer was already in cuffs. Lucifer was nowhere to be seen.

Chloe felt sick. She was trained to control her emotions, but the landslide of fear proved almost unbearable. Was Lucifer lying on the sand; had he been trampled in the chaos?

“Lucifer!” She scanned the scene. “LUCIFER!” Her loudest shout seemed dreadfully small, like trying to whistle into a hurricane.

She barged her way through the milieu to the spot she’d last seen him. Scarlet spattered the sand in a short trail, and she picked up a very high-quality handkerchief, sodden with blood.

Lucifer, however, was vanished.

***

Every awful possibility rushed through Chloe’s mind during the next hour of frantic search and enquiry. She feared he’d been kidnapped while injured, a plausible theory, until one of the response unit verified a tale that’d been woven by one of the arrested gang-members.

Lucifer, so they both said, had got up and run away.

All too soon, she had to return to the precinct to file her paperwork. She checked out again as soon as she could. Lucifer wasn’t returning her calls, and Mazikeen—who still wasn’t Chloe’s greatest fan—said he’d not showed at Lux.

She returned to the beach, seeking to think logically about what could’ve happened. How far could an injured man have gotten? As so often when she thought about Lucifer, the cool, clean judgment of her mind was swamped by something oh, so much more powerful. She found herself sitting, distracted, on the edge of the boardwalk, staring at the blinking lights of the ships out at sea.

Lucifer had _died_ before. Then he’d been fine, although in the weeks following the incidents with Amenadiel and Paolucci, Lucifer had acted oddly. In fact, he’d avoided her for a fortnight, but had gotten over that aversion quickly enough.

Ever since then, he’d returned to his ridiculous spiel about angels and devils, and had hit on her constantly, trying to manufacture “moments.” Each one had fallen flat. Something he’d done or said, a cheap jibe or a reminder of his many conquests, made her feel that it wasn’t what she wanted. The occasional treacherous quiver in his voice, those brief flashes of vulnerability in his eyes, suggested a quick “shag” wasn’t what he wanted of her either.

A cool sea breeze licked her face, a gull wheeled overhead, and she drew his handkerchief from her pocket, now stiff with dried blood. Lucifer’s blood.

Not knowing his fate was an anguish worse than hell, reminding her of the grief his previous “death” had caused her. It choked her again now, bringing tears to her eyes. Her sentiments toward him were so strongly irrational, she might just have to call them lo—

“Detective, I had no idea you were into blood kink. You should talk to Maze about—”

“Lucifer!” She sprung to her feet and they tumbled into each other’s arms; she sensed him gasp, pained, and she loosened her hold. He had to be at least slightly injured. She’d seen him get shot. But he hugged her tighter, refusing to let her go, and she’d no answer to his brute strength. She buried her face in his shoulder, and balled her free hand in the back of his jacket. Their breaths, hard, heavy and, for her at least, relieved, fell into synch as disarmingly naturally as their bodies melded as one.

She sagged against him, and for a fleeting, irrational moment, she wished she could stay where she was, so safe and warm, forever.

Fortunately, sloppy romanticism had never been her style, and neither was it Lucifer’s, so she shook off that preposterous notion fast. She lifted her face and took a step back, extracting herself.

“What happened to you?” She stuffed his handkerchief in her pocket again, and scrutinized his face. He looked fine, although the large blood strain on his jacket betrayed at least some of the truth. Carefully, she skittered her fingertips across his midriff, feeling the firmness of the flesh beneath his shirt. “I saw you get shot, Lucifer. Have you been to a hospital?”

“It was just a scratch,” he said airily. “But you’re _very_ welcome to check.”

“Okay. I will.”

Beginning just beneath his chest, she unbuttoned his shirt, rolling his eyes as he smirked. Still, touching Lucifer’s body was pretty damned nice. All the swirling emotions and professionalism in the world couldn’t stop her admitting that.

_Focus, Decker, Focus._

Reaching beneath his bloodstained jacket, she froze. The shirt, like the jacket above, had been sodden but his flesh was hard and smooth save… Hmmm, yes, maybe that was a thin line of crusted blood, but really, honestly, it _was_ no more than a scratch.

Frantic, she pulled aside his clothing, pressing his barely-there wound harder. He hissed.

“Sorry,” she said, on instinct more than anything.

“Not a problem, Detective. Far from it, in fact. You’re very welcome to remove my clothes and cop a feel any time you wish. Even better, if you’d like me to return the favour—

“Lucifer!” She jerked her hand away. Why must he always use sex as a weapon, whenever she tried to discuss anything serious between them? “I had to know you were okay.”

He sighed, tucking his shirt back. “Happy now?”

“That is _so_ not the point.”

“I apologize that I’m not deader then—”

“I don’t mean that either. I just… how can this be? _Again_? What _are_ you? I mean…” She pulled out the handkerchief and brandished it in front of his nose. “I should get this tested. Find out once and for all what your deal is.”

“I’ve told you, I’m the devil,” He shrugged, suddenly weary. “But do it, if you want. I suppose I ought to show you the truth, but… I don’t… To be brutally honest, I don’t want to break you.” His eyes glinted with something that might’ve been nascent tears. If they were, he blinked them away and conjured an effortful smile. “Detective, why can’t we just have sex and get things over with?”

Chloe steeled herself, arms folded and lips knitted tight. Yet he seemed so desolate, and it struck her that sex wasn’t a weapon to Lucifer after all. It was a defence. A defence against having to admit how he really felt; to prevent him unleashing his feelings only to have them thrown brutally back at him.

“Okay, no more “moments”, I promise,” he sighed. “Test away. But you don’t need to do that to know I’m… I’m a _very_ bad thing. I _am_ the devil.”

A passing police siren wailed noisily, almost drowning out his words. He sounded as broken as she’d felt just a few moments earlier. Chloe, despite her confusion, grew calmer again. This was progress. Despite his insistence on the devil nonsense, he was at last opening up to her a bit. That said, he no longer appeared able to meet her eye. When she reached out and took his hand, he startled. “You’re wrong, Lucifer. I don’t know where you get all this negativity about yourself from, but—” 

Actually, in the past few weeks, she had known at least part of the story behind Lucifer’s self-loathing.

Amenadiel. He was the sole link she had to Lucifer’s real past, and the way he’d treated Lucifer had been atrocious. Nevertheless, she’d stood by as Lucifer had let Amenadiel back into his life; stood by as Lucifer appeared to, at least partially, forgive his brother. At the start of this affair, she’d chastised herself for not spotting any signs that Lucifer’s family had hurt him quite so badly. Then she’d _let_ Lucifer reunite with Amenadiel. Did that make her a bad partner, and a bad friend too?

On the other hand, Amenadiel seemed to have modified his behaviour toward Lucifer, and Lucifer seemed content to have him back in his life. He indeed took genuine pleasure in bitching about Amenadiel, both to his face and behind his back. Though she didn’t have first-hand experience, Chloe was pretty damned sure this was normal sibling behaviour. Much better than their previous relations, at any rate.

But, as she’d said to Lucifer before, it was his refusal to fully open up about everything that she couldn’t handle.

Or could she?

Families—good or bad, they were hard to open up about. She rarely talked about her father, even to her mom or Trixie; it hurt too damn much. Maybe she _could_ handle Lucifer, even if he wasn’t ready to share.

She drew a deep breath, running her thumb across the back of his hand, which had grown rigid in her grasp. “I get that it’s hard to talk about what happened with your family, and if you’re not ready… I think I _can_ be patient for that. But you have to understand, whatever they made you think, you’re not a bad person. Amenadiel has begun to see the truth about how wrong he was. Why can’t you?”

He chuckled darkly. “I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m not sure I ever will be. And Detective… _this_ …” He caressed her hand before dropping it. “I should back off.”

Her heart swelled with so much affection she feared it might explode. Shit. Her feelings for him indeed drew precariously close to the “l” word. Definitely too much, too soon.

“That’s fine.” She swallowed hard. “But… maybe in time, you can give yourself a chance. Give us a chance.”

“Us?”

His voice lifted with a faint gleam of hope and his lower lip quivered. For the very first time, the moment felt right for Chloe. _They_ felt right.

She raised herself onto tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. His mouth was surprisingly soft and sensual, his breath warm and sweet. She closed her eyes as he leaned into her, his arm moving to pull her close, deepening the kiss. Her world span full circle and then slammed to a halt, everything subsumed to sheer, startling sensation. Kissing Lucifer was like being sucked into a stormy ocean. She couldn’t tell if he was the steady rock of ages to which she must cling, or the ever-in-the-moment current that would drag her to oblivion. A bit of both, she surmised…

They broke apart, and he seemed as astounded as she felt. “That _was_ a moment, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She smoothed her lips, savouring the taste of him blended with the saltiness of the fresh sea air. “That most definitely was.”

He called an Uber to pick them up. They sat together on the boardwalk to wait, finding a place where they could dangle their legs over the side and gaze out to sea. He placed his hand over hers, and their fingers intertwined.

It was… nice. Beyond nice, and although that epic kiss ought to have unleashed a billion more questions, it somehow silenced Chloe’s most urgent ones.

She’d never known anything like her feelings for him, and she refused to deny them any longer. She could and would wait for Lucifer to tell her truth, whatever it was, about him. How bad could it be anyway? And as for the coming back from the dead thing… Er, okay, that was still fairly seismic. She’d worry about it in the morning, which wasn’t like her, but she’d settle for now.

Just as their ride drew up, she considered running down the beach and casting the blood-soaked handkerchief into the sea. On grounds of hygiene and littering more than anything, she stuffed it in her pocket, and climbed into the car.

Out of habit, she left a respectful distance between herself and Lucifer in the back seat of the car. He slid across into the middle seat so they cuddled close, and brushed a stray strand of her hair from her nose. “My place or yours?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t care, Lucifer. It’s been a long day, and even if we’re keeping each company tonight, I just want to sleep. Nothing more, okay? Whatever breakthrough we just made, we need to take things slow.”

He shrugged, “I suppose there’s always a first time.”

He slung an arm around her. She snuggled into him, and the car drew off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapter is an alternative epilogue with m/m content. If you are happy with a Deckerstar ending, then here is the best place to stop reading. Slash fans, feel free to proceed... Thanks for reading :)


	11. Alternate epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go, Epilogue #2, which exists thanks to the wonderful Kymera 219, who suggested after the original ending that Amenadiel and Lucifer should just get drunk, and uh… well, I don’t want to give too much away, but it’s basically in the warning below ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALTERNATE ENDING. Warning: this chapter contains m/m mature content, and exists because I like to have the best of all worlds - a Deckerstar Happy For Now and a bit of slashy fun and brotherly angst too ;) If you don't like slash, please avoid - thank you :)

“I’ll get another bottle.” Lucifer rose from where he sat opposite Amenadiel and headed back toward the bar. “As long as you don’t get maudlin on me, because then you can sod off. I can’t abide maudlin drunks.”

Amenadiel wasn’t feeling maudlin. He was feeling… odd. He fixed on Lucifer’s butt, watching him as he glided across the room. Lucifer had a fantastic butt, and he always wore those lovely tailored trousers that displayed it to perfection. Lucifer’s butt made Amenadiel feel odd… no, funny. Not unpleasant funny, or humorous funny… just _funny_. Confused. After everything they’d been through lately, and the progress they’d made, he probably shouldn’t enjoy staring at his brother’s butt quite this much.

He swirled the dregs of the red wine around the base of his glass, looking there instead. He’d lost track of how much he’d had, in terms of bottles, let alone in glasses. He felt floaty and relaxed, yet kind of… maudlin. Whoops. He’d best keep that to himself, although he ought to be allowed to wallow in self-pity a teeny bit. He _had_ lost all his powers, and become little more than a mortal. There was much to mope about. He conceded he was also very, very drunk, which was yet another new experience for him.

Lucifer returned with another bottle of wine, and refilled both their glasses. He sat down next to Amenadiel, leaving a few inches between them. Near… but not too near. “So,” said Lucifer. “What are you going to do with yourself now you’ve fallen even harder than I ever did.” He paused, smirking, obviously still relishing the joke that Amenadiel’s plight was to him.

It wasn’t a joke to Amenadiel, but seeing as he was training himself _not_ to blame Lucifer for everything, he turned a blind eye.

“I don’t know.” He took a large gulp from his wine glance and flinched. This Shiraz was _strong,_ headier than the last bottle they’d downed. “Linda won’t talk to me. Seeing as you seem to have destroyed the only friendship I had—”

“If I recall, you’re the one who used her to manipulate me. And you lied to her, betrayed her confidence, landed her most charming patient in hospital—"

Whoops. He’d _still_ blamed Lucifer. Wisdom truly resided in the ancient human adage—old habits die hard. “Alright, I’m sorry. I accept I’m to blame for that, not you.”

“Yes, and you’re to blame for the fact she won’t sleep with me either now,” sniped Lucifer. “Point is, you have no idea what you’re going to do with yourself, have you?”

“No,” said Amenadiel. “I honestly have not.”

“I suppose it must be hard. Seeing you’ve never had to think for yourself before, what with being Dad’s whining little lap-dog.” Lucifer licked his lips then smoothed them together, evidently savouring the taste of the potent liquor far more than Amenadiel did. Rather than responding to Lucifer’s jibe, Amenadiel stared. The rest of the world turned hazy, and he couldn’t _stop_ staring. Even when Amenadiel took another sip of his own wine, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from Lucifer’s mouth.

“Why are you gawping at me? Have I got something on my face?”

“No.”

“Oh, I see. You’re _staring_. I thought you’d got over the whole creepy obsessed stalker business.”

“I’m not staring,” said Amenadiel, “I’m appreciating.” Suddenly, he felt kind of unhinged. He wasn’t sure what intoxicated him more. Lucifer or the wine.

“I can’t decide if that’s more or less creepy. I’ll settle for very weird.”

Amenadiel still wasn’t really listening. He’d already decided he would rise above that faint stirring in his loins, and appreciate his brother’s company without having to confront those darker passions. His next question sounded less stupid in his head than it did when it tumbled out. “Luci, why do you think Father gave you that mouth?”

Lucifer spluttered his wine, then dabbed those damned gorgeous lips again. “Not for the many splendid uses I’ve put it to, I’m sure.” He slid his tongue to his cheek, and gestured obscenely with his hand. “But this a more general existential question, right? I hate to break it to you, Amenadiel, but you have a mouth too. You’ve just never put anything interesting in it. And very little of interest comes out of it.”

“No, Luci, I mean, _that_ mouth. Your specific mouth. It’s sensual, pink, soft. Almost a cupid’s bow. It shouldn’t fit with the rest of you, which is stunning and hard, angular, but it does. It’s all… perfect.”

“I’ll take that as a very weird compliment. I certainly don’t have a cupid’s bow—if we must go with the hackneyed bow analogy, it’s more of a yew longbow, medieval-style, though frankly I was never much interested. More Michael's bag. Still, if the cupid-Pagan reference is a two-finger salute to Dad, kudos anyhow.”

Amenadiel was drunk. He was very, very drunk, because he didn’t regret a word he’d just said. He wouldn’t regret it, even if Lucifer punched him, though it didn’t look like that was going to happen. A smirk ruffled Lucifer’s much-admired lips, and his gaze remained soft—soft, at least, for Lucifer.

So, Amenadiel kept digging himself deeper. “I am genuinely interested in what Father was thinking, when he made you… look like _you_. Did he create you just to tempt m… everyone? I mean, that’s not really fair, either on the… uh, the tempted, or on you.”

“You know what?” Lucifer sounded suddenly weary. “I’m long past caring about what Dad created _anything_ for. So, unless you’ve anything of consequence to say, I think I’ll turn in. You know where the exit is.”

He rose and turned away; Amenadiel leaped to his feet, the pang in his heart like the stab of a dagger. He grabbed Lucifer’s wrist. Lucifer whirled back around, his stare glacial.

“You’re drunk,” snapped Lucifer. “And bloody maudlin. I warned you against that.”

“Aren’t you? Even a bit?” asked Amenadiel, desperately. He knew Lucifer had pretty much shaken off the mortality glitch that still bugged him. “Luci, please don’t…” He couldn’t quite say “don’t go.” And he couldn’t articulate what he actually wanted from Lucifer right now, because in all honesty, he didn’t know. His body had other ideas, of course, but that was so, so wrong, so screwed up, and—

Why was Lucifer still not tugging away, or headbutting him, or generally smashing him about and giving him what he deserved. Lucifer edged closer, ’til Amenadiel breathed only of his balmy wine-spiced breath. His expression turned oddly resigned. “Your lips aren’t so bad either,” said Lucifer. “Quite sensual, really. As I said, shame you’ve never put them to better use.”

Amenadiel kissed him. It was swift and snatched, but it felt to Amenadiel as if electricity arced between them; when Amenadiel broke away, Lucifer’s beautiful long lashes flutter upward, and he realized that, during the brief kiss, Lucifer had closed his eyes.

“We shouldn’t,” muttered Amenadiel, “I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t be provoked.”

“Your loss.” Lucifer sounded angry and fragile all at once. He retreated toward his boudoir, leaving Amenadiel hanging, the room spinning giddily around him.

He considered blaming the wine for everything. Then it struck him he was still getting things wrong. He’d just blamed Lucifer _again_ for provoking him, even though he was just being… Lucifer.

Truth is, Amenadiel _wanted_ his brother. He’d a nasty suspicion that this nebulous desire explained why he’d always been so willing to hurt Lucifer, then to blame… anyone but himself. He wasn’t sure exactly how or why, but he’d wanted Lucifer since the beginning of time.

He followed Lucifer into the boudoir. Lucifer, wanton tempter or otherwise, had stripped off his shirt, and was just putting his trousers on a hanger in his huge, walk-in wardrobe. When Amenadiel pattered in, he rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than a mangy dog. You’re just _begging_ for a kicking, aren’t you?”

Amenadiel closed the gap between them with three swift strides. Amenadiel cupped Lucifer’s face, slid an arm around him. Lucifer offered a resigned laugh, leaning back into the crook of Amenadiel’s arm. “You’re _so_ vanilla. Ugh… if we _must_.”

This time, Amenadiel kissed him properly, deeply and sweetly. Lucifer pressed up into him, deepening the kiss, going with Amenadiel’s rhythm, and not pushing too far or too fast, as Amenadiel feared he might. Lucifer just kissed and let himself be kissed, let it linger on, until… oh whoops. The friction of the kiss, of their bodies rubbing and crushing ever closer, of Amenadiel’s hands roaming all over Lucifer’s hard, smooth flesh had some predictable side effects.

Amenadiel was hard… as hell. Lucifer’s large bed was so soft and inviting. And as Amenadiel was very talented at divorcing his brains from his actions when he needed to, sex simply happened, the inevitable extension of the kiss.

They hit the bed with a thud, mouths colliding this time in a messy clash of teeth and tongues. They kissed then broke away, then kissed again, while they scrambled to rip away Amenadiel’s clothing. As Amenadiel’s passions rose, the kiss grew full-on, bordering on violent, as they rolled across the mattress, which creaked beneath the strain. Amenadiel fumbled with a single hand to tug down Lucifer’s boxers, as a primitive force surged within him and seemed to overtake them both. Father forgive him, he needed Lucifer, and from the way Lucifer grinded against him, like a feral beast, he at least _hoped_ that Lucifer needed him.

Perspiration slicked their bodies as they bucked and writhed, uniting as one. Amenadiel felt and wanted nothing save Lucifer’s touch all over him, Lucifer’s tongue in his mouth, and Lucifer’s glorious mouth sliding up his length, and then his flesh inside Lucifer’s. It all happened a blur, a wonderful, exquisite, pumping, thrusting, mangled mess. They peaked as one, a tangled heap, chests heaving in synch, as they gasped in the heady mingled scents of sweat and sex… and fallen angels.

***

When Amenadiel awoke, he felt terrible. Literally, awful. His head pounded, his stomach churned, and the inside of his mouth was dry as grit and bitterer than brine.

Ah. He was experiencing his first human hangover. He’d a feeling last night that this might happen, and… Oh, crap.

Last night.

He cracked an eye open. Lucifer was perched on the end of the bed, shirtless and smoking a cigarette. Amenadiel opened his mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say, so he emitted a desolate groan instead.

“Ah, good morning, brother.” Lucifer shot him a cursory glance over his shoulder. “This is normally the cue for you to start shouting and raving at me.” He blessed Amenadiel with a longer, more penetrating stare. “Or is this where the new, reformed Amenadiel starts to wail and bemoan his lot? If so, I might skip it.” He got up and moved toward the balcony door, then paused. “I’m quite up for fisticuffs, by the way, just like the good old days. It would probably be the kindest thing for both of us.”

Amenadiel tried to push himself up, then thought better of it. His stomach was far from right, and he realized he might just be ill. Still, as Lucifer pushed the door aside, fresh air billowed in and revived him nearly as well as a glass of water might. “Luci,” he said, covering his face with his hands. “I’m not ready to handle this yet.”

“So _that’s_ how it’s going to go.” Lucifer hovered in the opening. The morning sunlight glistened on his bedhead hair and bare shoulders, smooth save those scars Amenadiel still found so hard to look at; a glint of anger burgeoned in Lucifer's eyes. “Typical. After I went and fulfilled all your desires again. I wanted kinky foreplay, and I’ve always had this hankering to ride you like a cowboy. But I do it your way—practically missionary—and you’re still wallowing in regret. I suppose it’s progress from blaming me for _your_ dirty little hankerings, but that’s about it.”

“No, that’s not what I said. It’s not your fault, and I’m not entirely sure last night, or exactly what we did, was my fault either. It just… happened. And I’m not ready to handle what happened yet.”

As he spoke, Amenadiel managed to finally get upright. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rose shakily, and began to gather his clothes from where they’d been discarded all over the floor. Once he’d dressed, he joined Lucifer on the balcony. With his fingertips, he brushed Lucifer’s hip, while Lucifer watched his every move like a hawk honing in on his prey. The ash from his hardly touched cigarette tumbled to the balcony floor, catching in a tiny whirlwind.

Lucifer smoothed his lips again; _those_ lips. And then he exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m not sure I’m ready to handle this either,” he said.

“That’s alright,” said Amenadiel, tearing his attention from Lucifer to admire the hills on the horizon, “we’ll find a way to handle it together.” Lucifer laughed at him; Amenadiel laughed with him, while the last remnants of Amenadiel’s serenity shattered into a billion tiny shards.

Amenadiel loved his brother. He really did. Maybe just a little too much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


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